


Four Sticks

by flightlessons



Series: Flight Lessons [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Incest, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Novel, Polyamory, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 118,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessons/pseuds/flightlessons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Introducing: Four Sticks, the Second Installment of Flight Lessons. </p><p>True to Supernatural, I didn’t think the story was quite finished yet. </p><p>Some things are the same. The story still focuses on Dean and Sam Winchester and Castiel. Like in the end of Flight Lessons, the three have been living their lives together as a polyamorous couple. Some time has passed, but they’re still together in their house in Philadelphia. Sam is still healing hunters, and Dean is running his shop out of the basement. For his part, Cas is now going to college in the city. And in the few years since the last story ended, their lives have been quiet and calm and lovely.</p><p>But of course, with these three, things never get to stay peaceful for long.</p><p>A series of new and returning characters—some familiar, some not—both complicate and advance the story. Relationships are tested, characters grow and make mistakes, and there’s still plenty of violence, danger, romance, sex, and rock n roll. Angels, demons, witches, hunters—they all make appearances.</p><p>You can also read it on Tumblr here: <a href="http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2">http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Still Loving You

**Author's Note:**

> Special note on the writing style: Unlike in Flight Lessons, where everything is pretty linear, the story’s timeline jumps around. The first scene, which sets the stage for the main complication, takes place in late August. But the following scene is May of that same year. Most of the main story takes place that summer, but it’ll jump back to August/September now and then to “check in.” I don’t think it’s too confusing, but I tried to help with characters and scenery.
> 
> For complete notes, please visit the Tumblr notes page here: <http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/notes>

The morning was beautiful. And not too hot for August. The sun was shining but not roasting, and with the windows rolled down, it felt good.

Dean hung partially out of the car, looking at him with an almost drunken expression. His head rested on muscular arms—visible thanks to his choice of a sleeveless black shirt. His big eyes followed Cas as he reluctantly walked away, headed toward the tall, castle-like structure that held his first class of the semester. It was the start of his junior year at the university, and Dean wanted to see him off.

He didn’t usually chauffeur him. It wasn’t that far to the campus from their house. If Cas didn’t feel like walking, he’d just take the bus, or Sam might drive him if he didn’t have clients. But it was the first day of a new year, and with them still on alert, it seemed like the right thing to do.

And this degree seemed really important to their angel. It was something human that he could accomplish on his own. He loved learning and often raved about his courses and his professors and all the human friends he was making. Sam encouraged him to do it from the get-go, but having Dean’s support, too, meant the world to him. It showed that the one thing uniquely his was respected and valued in the life they built together. Sam had healing, and Dean had the store, so this was his thing.

Besides, it didn’t take much to drive him a few blocks, but the payoff was pretty substantial. By the look of him, Cas probably wouldn’t stop smiling for the whole first class. And getting to watch him walk away in those new close-fitting slacks Sam bought him for his birthday? Well, that was an added bonus.

Like a teenager with a crush, Cas looked back two or three times before finally disappearing behind heavy wooden doors with the other students.

Dean waited a few minutes after he was gone. The school was covered in bubbly twenty-somethings, but the buildings were all very old. Nothing like any place he’d ever taken a class. He was actually more interested in them than the students. No wonder so many people went off to college. The places looked kinda neat.

As for all the human eye candy, Dean had no issue staying faithful. He no longer had any urges for other people. His hands and life and heart were all filled up with the two—his angel and his soulmate. Though he hadn’t yet told either of them about it, it’d been over a year since he’d looked at anyone else, and even then, it wasn’t serious. He simply couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t know if it had something to do with their psychic bonds or if he was just so devoted to them that it didn’t make sense, but whatever the reason, he only felt attracted to the two of them.

He thought it might bother him more than it did. Honestly, what could anyone else offer? There wasn’t anything that could come close.

With a smile, he shifted the Chevy into gear, turned it around, and started for home.

Inside the hall, Cas met up with three of his classmates. Their program was small, and at this stage, they’d had several classes together in pursuit of similar majors. Two of them were acquaintances by now, and the girl—Ashley, who hailed from New York and seemed to take an immediate liking to Cas—was more like a friend. All three were happy to see him.

“Who’s the guy?” asked Randall, a local who on more than one occasion tried to drag Cas to some clubs downtown. “He’s a cutie!”

“What? Don’t you pay attention, dumbshit? That’s Dean, id’nit it? It is! That’s the guy you go on about.” Will, a British transfer student, answered for him. “Fuck, you didn’t say he drives a sweet ride like that. Lucas, you been holdin’ out on us! I mean, Christ on a stick, that car is fuckin’ sexy.”

“Oh, there was a car? Hah, I wasn’t looking at that! Did you see those muscles?” Randall countered.

Ashley giggled. “Those _were_ pretty nice.”

“Guys!” Cas blushed.

Will patted him on the back. “You got good taste, man. I’ll give ya that.” He wandered away from them and disappeared inside their classroom.

Cas made to follow Will, but the other two stopped him. “We should hang out sometime! You could bring him along,” Randall offered. “Don’t you live in town? I mean, what did you do all summer—other than shack up with the BF? We see you pretty much every day—”

“More than once on Tuesdays!” Ashley cut in, looking at a paper printout of her class schedule.

“—but this is the first time we’ve even seen your guy! What, you afraid we won’t like him or something? What’s the catch? He got hooves where feet should be? I’m kinda worried there’s something you’re keeping from us.”

What they didn’t know could fill up the entire campus and then some.

Trying to stay calm, Cas feigned worry that they might be late. He arched his neck to take a look into the room, but their professor hadn’t arrived yet. Shaking his head, “No. No way. I’m just—In the summer, I help with the business more. And I guess we’re just kinda private with the whole thing. There’s not really any reason to, now, but the way Dean grew up—it didn’t let him really be that open, you know?” It wasn’t a complete lie. Dean wasn’t exactly adept at managing and sharing his emotions.

Ashley gave a sympathetic nod, but Randall’s entire expression changed. “Yeah,” he said somberly, with a weight and depth that betrayed pain. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.”

The angel could relate. His human family, minus his sister, had not been the most accepting of him. Understatement of the century. They tossed him out on his ass, said every curse word in the English language, and completely cut him off. He’d had the foresight—and absolute fear—to at least wait until he was eighteen to tell anyone about his sexual and romantic inclinations. At least then, he could legally take care of himself when they did the inevitable. But it was still terrible, and if not for his sister’s support, he didn’t know how he would’ve made it through.

With that, Ashley took her leave of them and found her way to a desk next to Will. She had no experience in this matter. The look on her face said that while she understood in theory what they were talking about, and she held nothing but compassion for them, she was afraid she might say the wrong thing.

Cas gave him a hug. Stepping back, he tried to smile a little. “No promises, but maybe I can convince him to grab a drink with us or something. Drag Ash and Will along.”

He scoffed, but was clearly happy to change the subject. “I dunno about your guy, but I don’t think Will ever really needs an excuse to drink. We could probably even take him to a gay bar so long as we promised to buy a couple of rounds. But I’m not gonna hold my breath with you, man! Your track record’s terrible.”

“I know, I know,” he laughed as they both headed toward their seats. “I kinda ditched you last time.”

“Yes, you did!”

And he didn’t have a good excuse that he could offer up, either. Dean wanted to bring some of his newest prototypes to Bobby for approval and was gone for a few days. By the third night—as was typical—Sam started to feel depressed without him. But it was bad this time. He was really, uncharacteristically depressed. Nothing he couldn’t handle, he said, but Cas worried. So, he cancelled on his college buddies and their long-scheduled night out to sit at home with the healer. He didn’t mind watching old action movies and getting in some quality cuddling time on the couch, and Dean was back the next morning before any real damage could be done.

But his friends missed him.

Lying to them was commonplace. It had to be. They couldn’t understand his unique romantic situation, any more than they could handle that he wasn’t technically human. But he didn’t feel great about it, and though, as it turned out, he was a pretty good liar, he didn’t always have a great excuse prepared.

After awhile, this group, and some of the other students he occasionally grabbed lunch with or studied with or whatever, stopped asking. They stopped inviting him along. And, mostly, they kept their interactions with him strictly on campus. What else could they do? His apparent age didn’t help—easily more than a decade older-looking than them. But more importantly, he never invited them to his house, and he always seemed so preoccupied with his life, which he told them very little about. Keeping others at arm’s length usually resulted in them doing the same.

But maybe he could still salvage a social life this year. They certainly seemed happy to see him, even though he’d barely lifted a finger to get in touch with any of them over the break. He had plenty of good reasons for that, of course. But they would never hear about it. All they knew was that he’d been distant.

He settled into a desk and dropped his notebook down as the professor shuffled in. Aging and disheveled, the man hadn’t shaved today, and his grey and brown hair didn’t look brushed, either.  He smoothed down his shirt, cleared his throat, and sat down. Moments later, a young TA—who Cas’d had for multiple classes so far but couldn’t remember the name—walked in with a pile of papers and started handing them out.

Once everybody had one, “This is your syllabus. Get to know it, familiarize, memorize—whatever. I trust you all bought the hideously overpriced textbooks.” The class laughed. “And welcome to _Psychology 322_ , uh…” He opened a leather-bound case, rifled through it, and pulled out a binder. Reading, he smiled. “Right, _Psych 322: Pain and the Mind_. Oh, nice. This is gonna be a fun one.”

He stood up abruptly and started pacing through the rows of students. “So, who can tell me what pain is?”

A girl at the far end of the room raised her hand first. When he called on her, “Well, umm, pain is like the sensory feeling you get when your nerves say you’ve been hurt. Or, at least that’s one way.”

He nodded, but didn’t seem impressed. “That’s a very simplistic answer, but sure. Why not?” He paused between Cas and Ashley. “And what happens when the brain is exposed to pain for an extended amount of time?”

“You go off your rocker!” Will commented, eliciting another round of laughter from his classmates.

The professor grinned. “Not necessarily. Pain can only persist so long, even if the cause is still there. A normally functioning brain eventually shuts those little receptors off. However, if there are short breaks between the bouts of pain, the overall time spent in agony can be extended for much longer. The lengthier the break, the more intense the pain when it returns. Along those lines, people with purportedly high pain tolerances who go several years or even months without much pain tend to lose the tolerance.”

“You mean like with administrating painful medical treatments? Better to do it all at once if you can?” asked one student near the back. Obvious pre-med track.

“That’s one application.”

“Or torture,” Cas said quietly.

“Whoa!” he heard Randall exclaim.

But the educator’s interest was piqued. “How so?”

Cas straightened in his chair, but didn’t look at him or anyone else. He had to be careful about this answer. He knew for a fact what did and didn’t work well when torturing someone—because he’d done it. On multiple occasions. In another life. It was part of being a good soldier. And though that wasn’t who he was anymore, he still had the detailed knowledge associated with it. If he wasn’t cautious, they might start to wonder where the lowly college student was getting his information.

Eventually, “I watch a lot of movies. Whenever the good guy or whoever is being tortured, they stop after awhile and throw him in a cell. Then they come back to torture him again—which is usually when the hero kills them and escapes—but anyway, they do that because if they torture him nonstop, he’ll either die or max out on pain, and it won’t be effective.”

God, he’d done it hundreds of times…

“Yeah, but that’s just in movies,” retorted the woman who’d given the definition.

Shaking his head, Cas opened his notebook to avoid having to make eye contact with anyone. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s how they do it. Like I read that’s how they did it at Guantanamo, too.”

The professor stopped directly in front of Cas’s desk and waited until he looked up at him. “That’s right.” And then, in a much lower tone, “And that’s what we’re going to do to your friends.” Louder again, “At least that’s what my students tell me. Fair warning: my tests are torture!”

To Cas’s horror, the man’s eyes, for a split second, turned completely black before flicking again to human. He shrunk back in his chair. It was a demon. His partners had been battling them all summer, but they thought the problem was over. It would seem now that it clearly wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Cas hadn’t really been targeted—yet. But here was a demon, posing as his teacher in broad daylight, and happily letting him know in front of a group of possible witnesses.

And potential innocent victims.

He tried to hide his fear from the others, but Randall seemed to notice. As the professor walked away, his friend kept a skeptical stare on him.

But Cas didn’t have time to address it. He reached into his pocket and ran his fingers over a small plastic bottle. Etched into the side was a cross, and it contained holy water. He could spray the demon with it and take off, but without any other way to defend himself, he wasn’t sure it would do much good. And what if there were more of them?

On the other hand, the guy might just be there to intimidate him. Or to goad him into making a scene and screwing up his academic career.

He couldn’t take the risk either way. And he had a really bad feeling.

Discreetly, he pulled out his cellphone and began composing a text message to the Winchesters. “ _My prof is a demon. Really a demon. Only have holy water. Plz come pick me up. I’m worried. I love you both._ ”

“Dude, are you okay?” Randall asked in a whisper.

“Not feeling well.”

He got up as quietly as possible and headed for the door. When the TA asked where he was going, he gulped. “Infirmary. I’m gonna puke.” And he left. Once in the hall, he dashed toward a little-known back exit. If anyone was planning to intercept him, they’d probably target the major doors.

But it was welded shut—a new addition since the last time he set foot on campus. “Fuck!” He kicked it.

“Hey, man, what’s goin’ on?” Randall had followed him, and Ashley appeared seconds later.

God damnit. The last thing he needed was other people who could potentially get hurt. He decided to break a personal rule. “It’s something you won’t understand,” he said very slowly. “But you’re in danger right now if you stay with me. I promise I’m not as crazy as this sounds. But you have to go. Get as far away from me as you can.” He tried to look as sincere as he felt. They had to believe him.

“What?” Ashley blinked. “Luke, if someone’s after you, we can get campus security…”

“No, we can’t,” he said hurriedly, rushing past them and starting down a hall to the next most hidden exit. If that one was blocked, too, he seriously considered jumping out a window. They were on the ground floor, so it wouldn’t be dangerous.

But his friends kept up their pursuit. “What do you mean ‘we can’t’?!” Randall called after him. “C’mon, man, their office is just around the corner. Both of us will go with you.”

“I’m sure we won’t miss too much,” Ashley added. “It’s only the first day. We can explain to him later what happened.”

He turned and put up his hands. “No, you’re not listening to me, you can’t be here! Just go. Get out of here. You have to.” His tone, and the fear in it, was enough to halt them. He spun around and burst through the door.

And was promptly knocked on his ass. Seeing stars, it took a moment before he realized he was surrounded. Six different assailants, all with the stink of sulfur on their skin and clothes. He tried to get up, but one of them shoved the heel of his boot into Cas’s chest and pinned him painfully to the ground. He reached for the holy water. But before he could wrestle the cap off, another heel came down on his wrist and ground it into the dirt until he had to let go.

Struggling was pointless. He merely glared up at them. “You gonna kill me in front of all these people?” he inquired when they offered no explanation.

“Who said anything about killing you?” asked a voice he wished he didn’t remember. Slowly, some of the demons parted, and the figure came into view.

He clenched his jaw. “Fuck.”


	2. Summer Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Cold water dripped down inside his shirt. It got in through every seam of his grey windbreaker. Laden with the rain, locks of his hair dangled heavy around his ears. He was soaked. And chilled.

And standing unfazed in the middle of the sidewalk.

With arms outstretched at his sides, Sam smiled, and it reached nearly the whole way across his face in both directions. “It’s not so bad!” he called toward Dean, who huddled beneath a rickety construction tunnel in an attempt to escape the sudden downpour.

He propped one arm up on a metal bar and leaned forward just short of getting wet. Despite his best efforts, a few drops landed on his nose. The water smelled like sawdust and cheap paint, no doubt because it carried with it specks of sawdust and cheap paint. He wiped it away with his sleeve. “Dude! I’m not walkin’ in that for twenty blocks.”

“Don’t be a baby! It’s just rain.”

Dean peered up at the thick clouds. Though plenty of afternoon light still came through, he had no idea how long it would take before the weather cleared.  “Why don’t you come in here, instead?” He beckoned Sam toward him with a wave.

Shrugging, his soulmate slipped through the curtain of rain and stopped a few inches away. Water bounced off of him and onto Dean. Moments later, Sam threw his arms around him and kissed him dramatically. But spontaneous romance wasn’t the only reason for this outburst. The actions served to significantly dampen him, and in the next instant, Sam pulled Dean out of his refuge and into the street.

“Oh, you sonuva bitch,” he growled, but there wasn’t any bite to it. All the attention Sam wanted to show him, he welcomed, even if it meant getting drenched in rainwater.

There was no shortage of loving from him at the beginning of each week, but by the end, the healer found himself often too exhausted to do much more than fall asleep on Dean, Cas, or any available piece of furniture. But not this week or the next. Sam was on vacation. He needed a chance to relax and recharge his batteries. No healings except emergencies.

After a couple days of kicking around the house, including lengthy intervals sans clothing with his two companions, Sam struck out into the city to do a little exploring with Dean in tow. Though they’d lived in Philly for three years now, they’d barely done any sightseeing. It was about time.

Mostly, the two went wherever Sam wanted. Dean even tolerated a brief trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, provided he could run up the stairs and pretend to be Rocky Balboa. He didn’t even complain too much. Sam was pretty proud of him. So much so that the stop that followed was a classic car show, which had Dean salivating at all the chrome-plated machines.

Today’s excursion brought them to the annual spring festival in Rittenhouse Square, a beautiful park in the western part of Center City, where the two were treated to music and food. Big crowds gathered at every turn even as the weather degraded, but the two soulmates still managed to have a fairly decent time. Without the foresight of bringing an umbrella, they stayed as long as they dared. It was only two blocks before the rain caught up with them.

Sam pulled him along with both hands on Dean’s own, smiling and laughing at the begrudged look on his face. They didn’t stop until there was an intersection busy enough to prevent a sprint across.

“Dude, you’re enjoying this way too much,” Dean accused.

He shifted his weight as his glance walked over the older man. “Why wouldn’t I? When we get home, you’re gonna take these wet clothes off, right?” He leaned in and chewed on Dean’s earlobe. “And, you know, I’ll take mine off, and I’ll help you get warm again.”

Dean blushed. “Is that a promise?”

Shrugging, Sam let go of him and crossed the street. On the other side, Dean caught him by the waist and pulled him close. He tried not to shiver from the cold water.

“Oh yeah.” Sam kissed him. “And it’s not like you have to worry about getting sick or anything. You know I got you covered.”

The healer loved reminding Dean about that. Because it meant that his job, and his abilities, were more than just a hobby. He was responsible for protecting them from the evils of disease and injury, along with partially supporting them financially.

And he fixed everything. Cas had bronchitis last winter, and Sam got rid of it before the angel even knew he’d gotten sick. Dean dropped a hammer on his foot. He barely had to withstand the pain for more than a minute—long enough for Sam to scurry down the stairs. They lived practically free of aches and illnesses.

Even aging was halted in its tracks. In three years, none of them had grown older by more than maybe a day. He did it silently about once a month whenever the inclination arose and he happened to already be touching one of them. With a small burst of energy, Sam dialed back the weeks of natural wear and tear. His own body didn’t need this treatment. It wouldn’t ever age, Cas told him, since growing old was a disease in itself. Or so the angel put it. Mortality was an illness, to which Sam was essentially immune. And he could easily combat it in other people.

Both knew, though he rarely brought it up. He’d told them the first time, explaining that, really, there was no reason they couldn’t live forever, too, if they wanted. Or they could at least make a stab at it. With the power he wielded, it didn’t have to be just the rest of a normal lifetime. It could be decades upon decades more if they were lucky.

This caused no problem for Cas, who had immense difficulty accepting that he could and likely would eventually die. But part of Dean thought something this unnatural, this big, shouldn’t be fucked around with. And it made his skin crawl to think that he might walk the earth forever like some vamp or monster.

At the same time, though, the idea of losing Cas, either through his own death or the angel’s, made him sick to his stomach.

Dean knew—well, he slowly began to accept—that when he died, and when Sam died, they would still get to be together. By merit of being soulmates, they would reconnect upstairs, and spend the rest of eternity reliving their best memories, making a few new ones, and generally being happy.

Except that he wouldn’t be happy, and neither would Sam. Not all the way. Not without Cas. They loved him damn near as much as they loved each other, and the peaceful years together in the home they made only brought the three closer. In the months before Sam offered to hit the pause button, it was this thought that kept Dean awake, and kept him edge. It made him overly cautious. And it terrified him. Up against that, how could he say no? How could he choose death—a prospect that he wasn’t especially thrilled about—over Cas?

He couldn’t.

And anyway, with Sam’s healing working twenty four-seven, he couldn’t join Dean in old age even if he wanted to. So, he was willing to let the healer work his magic. Dean wasn’t sure he could handle cheating death and everything that came with living so long, but he had to try. The alternative was a lot worse.

The rain started to let up about four blocks away. Sam kept close, wrapped around Dean’s arm as best he could given the height difference.

He knew his current function as the protector of their general wellbeing took a chunk out of Dean’s ego. That job had literally defined his soulmate once. To an extent, it still did, as he would protect them from outside foes in an instant if there were any. But now the responsibility mostly fell to Sam.

And worse yet, the younger Winchester more often than not took an aggressive role when they were intimate, simply because it felt right.

But there was no reason Dean had to feel like shit about it if his brother had any say in the matter. In moments like this, Sam made sure to let him know he could still be strong and that he still thought Dean was. And it wasn’t a lie. Even in the peace time they’d created. Sam felt a hundred times safer with him by his side. He always had, and he always would.

Soaked to the bone with cold rain, a little extra closeness couldn’t hurt, either.

They arrived home tangled up in each other. The house was warm and inviting, filled with their belongings and memories—and Cas. The duo found him sitting like a Buddhist monk on the floor in the main room they used for healings. In nearly a full circle surrounding him were papers and books, scrawled with notation, highlighted, and covered in sticky notes. Near his left leg was an empty mug that once held sugary tea.

His lips moved silently as he squinted at a book in his lap. He didn’t speak until he finished the paragraph he was on. “How was the festival?” he asked without looking up.

“Uh, wet.” Dean threw his arm around Sam, and their damp clothing made a sloshing sound.

“Hmm?” Cas didn’t process that at first. But then, his blue eyes shot up in their direction. He looked like he might scold them for getting the floors wet, but on closer inspection, he merely seemed exhausted. He’d been studying virtually nonstop for most of the week. Three out of his four final exams were on the same day—tomorrow—and he was stressed to the max about it.

It was the end of his second full year at the university, and he wanted desperately to see it through. As a human, he was half-assing community college when he met the Winchesters. Though he legitimately wanted to get an education at the time, his heart hadn’t been in it. Why start over when he already had a good living? But then everything changed, and it changed again a few more times before now. And Sam remembered. He remembered from an off-hand remark that Cas had once tried his hand at higher education. That he and the healer had this in common.

And he pushed Cas to apply to a few different colleges and universities in the city. Just to see. When, to the angel’s utter surprise, he got in, Sam said he had no doubt. Dean gave his blessing. And Cas started his studies with a bit more zeal than his last attempt.

The two shuffled toward him, their wet shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor. Cas stood up abruptly and put out his hands. “Hey! Stop right there. If my notes get waterlogged, I’m screwed!”

Dean lassoed Sam by the stomach with one arm to halt him in his tracks. Cas jumped over the Great Wall of papers to meet them. He planted a kiss squarely on Sam’s cheek before giving Dean a deeper one. He alternated like that. Whoever he greeted first got a lighter kiss to keep it even. He didn’t have a favorite, he said. He loved them both equally.

Even as Cas was kissing Dean, Sam kept one hand on each of them.  When they finished, “Need a break? We gotta get out of these wet clothes. You know, you should come with us.”

He inhaled, and the corners of his lips worked their way into a tenuous smile. But he shook his head. “Can’t. I’d love to.” His thumb brushed some water off of Dean’s face, just above his eyebrow. “I really would. But if I don’t pass—”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, dude,” Dean patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll celebrate tomorrow night when you kick ass on those tests.” Disconnecting from the two, he kissed Cas again before heading for the stairs. Raising both eyebrows, “You comin’?”

Sam resisted the urge to reply with “Well, not yet.” Instead, he nodded. “Be there in a sec.”

That was good enough for Dean, who climbed up to the third floor without him. Sam pulled Cas closer and kissed him for a few moments, water from his hair dripping down by the angel’s ear. “You’re gonna do fine,” he whispered.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. full ride at Stanford! This stuff is like nothing for you. I used to have thousands upon thousands of names memorized, but right now I’m not sure I know the difference between Kübler-Ross and Tomkins.”

Sam shook his head. “I had to study, too. And law’s a lot easier than psychology. I’ve never even heard of half the things you talk about. It’s wild.” He ran his fingers through Cas’s hair. “But you’re a natural. I mean, you’ve been our shrink since before we met you.”

Cas laughed. It was true. Whenever they needed his help, whenever they were unsure or afraid or upset, he talked them through it. If there was an argument, he diffused and moderated. If Dean was frustrated or distraught, Cas had the right words to calm him down. And if Sam found himself overwhelmed or depressed, he knew exactly what to say or do to fix it. Psych was a perfect match.

But Sam wasn’t inept in that department, either. “Want me to run through the flash cards with you, again? I don’t think you need it, but we can, anyway.”

“If you want. But only when you’re, uh—when you and Dean are finished.” He blushed.

With a kiss, Sam backed away. “Deal. Good luck!”

Upstairs, Sam found Dean already in the buff. He lay on top of the bedspread with his eyes closed and his arms folded behind his head. Though he heard Sam arrive, he pretended to be asleep. Sam stood by the door for a moment—looking him over. By now, he knew every little detail, from the few battle scars Dean insisted he leave behind to the handprint-shaped burns the healer didn’t dare touch, and from the smallest freckles and birthmarks to the anti-possession tattoo that was identical to Sam’s own. He knew every piece of him, filed it away as vital information, and kept it close.

Insignificant things turned him on. For instance, the slight smile Dean was currently battling, a tell that betrayed he was still awake, made Sam want him beyond belief. He took off his shirt, wriggled awkwardly out of wet jeans and the rest, and crept slowly on top of him. “If you’re asleep, I guess I’ll just take a nap, too,” he whispered with his lips touching Dean’s ear.

Dean grinned widely. Without opening his eyes, “No, not that!”

“Yep, taking a nap now.” He unceremoniously slumped onto his soulmate and relaxed all of his muscles.

“Hey! Get off me, Sasquatch!”

He responded with loud faux snoring noises. Dean gave up the charade and started kissing the side of Sam’s head. When it had no effect, he reached down to the healer’s ribs. Sam’s whole body tensed up. A pause to torture him. Then, abruptly, he dug his fingers in, tickling him viciously.

“Ahh!” Sam yelped. Tickling did absolutely nothing to arouse or excite him. He jumped up quickly and nearly bounced off the bed by accident. But Dean caught him, pulling him back down. Facing him, “Jerk.”

Dean smiled. Sam hadn’t called him that in a long time. In a different time. But the typical response no longer felt right. The exchange itself gave him the sort of warm feeling in his gut sort of like Cas’s wings did, but the term? It didn’t work anymore, did it? The connotation—No. Just no. Instead, “C’mon, man, you love me!”

Sam didn’t seem to notice his soulmate’s inner conflict. He shrugged. “Yeah, and you’re still a jerk!”

“Well, that’s too damn bad.” He cupped Sam’s face with both hands and kissed him slowly.

It didn’t take very long before Sam was completely enthralled. His soulmate donned a familiar expression—a blend of pure, almost sleepy happiness and overwhelming excitement. When Dean moved away enough for his eyes to focus on him, Sam mimicked the action.

Dean leaned back and let his glance walk all over the muscles and lines of his body. But he couldn’t control himself, not with Sam laying like he was and looking like that. He slinked his way on top, gliding his fingers over him as he went. He kissed him deep—felt him—tried to appreciate and take everything in. How many times had they been together in this bed, just like this? But each time, it was as much like new as it was familiar. It astounded him. Years together, with very little change in their routine and approach, and yet neither of them ever found it boring.

He longed for these sessions with Sam. Not only to have a little fun—and they had more than a little—but just to be as close to him as humanly possible. Sex was an enjoyable mechanism for that. And something about their connection drove the need for it. They couldn’t stand close enough or touch each other often enough. Sometimes, it was worse than others, but the feeling followed the two of them around wherever they went.

It was magnetic.

Sam, for all his independence, seemed to need it more in order to function. Reasonable amounts of time apart, even a few days, threw him into utter distress. But on the other hand, Dean _yearned_ for it. He craved it like a junkie. He didn’t really take the time to dissect or analyze it, as he was sure his soulmate did. When he saw Sam, he wanted him. He wanted to put as little distance between them. Hell, he apparently thought basic things like clothes stood in the way.

And when he had him? It was like every good feeling he could think of rolled into one.

From a collection of different bottles stored within arm’s reach in their nightstand, Dean selected the first one that felt heavy enough to be at least halfway full—and prayed it wasn’t something weird or flavored.

Cas and Sam got a bit more creative when he wasn’t around, and they had all sorts of implements they used on each other. The most recent addition? A genuine pair of handcuffs for authenticity. Not that it mattered. With Sam’s lock-picking skills, they may as well have been the cheap ones.

His soulmate rarely brought up the kinkier stuff him and the angel got into, and Cas kept his mouth shut to an extent, but Dean wasn’t an idiot. Most of the items they collected only had a couple of uses. And from what little he’d seen walking in on them, Sam was typically on the receiving end of whatever Cas could think up.

Dean’s imagination filled in the rest.

But, hey, if they wanted or needed to spice things up, then he was happy to let them do it. They never asked him to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, nor did they seem to mind that his interests were a bit more run of the mill.

To his relief, it was the standard fare stuff you could get at most grocery stores or pharmacies. He’d even bought it himself a few times, knowing full well what people might think. It was far more preferable than going without. Though, by the sound of the plastic clicking around in that drawer, the trio wouldn’t have to worry about that any time soon.

He poured some of the gel into his hand and felt it slick between his fingers. Having done this practically hundreds of times before, he didn’t really need to look or focus too much on this part of the task. Instead, he kissed Sam with some force behind it, searched a second, and then slid two fingers inside of him. He didn’t stop until his hand refused to go any further.

Sam breathed out loudly. He held onto Dean at the shoulder, more than content to let him go to work for awhile. And he did. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew and pushed in again. Keeping his fingers arched slightly—a helpful tip from their angelic comrade—he closed his eyes to concentrate. His free hand glided down from Sam’s jawline and across his chest. The healer’s skin was still a little cold from the rain. But he didn’t shiver. And soon, Dean hoped he would warm up just fine.

The unoccupied hand went farther than Sam anticipated. It glided over him in the right places but kept going, and eventually it came to rest between his legs, just a finger’s length above his knees. What was Dean planning? To tease him?

But as Sam started to come up with ideas—enough to make him blush—he realized the tantalizing grasp was about leverage. Dean could put a little more force into things if he had a good grip.

Of course, he could do even better if it wasn’t his hand that slipped in and out of him.

Letting his wrist fall to the mattress, Dean released him entirely for a brief moment. He dried his hand off with a paper towel, and in one fluid motion he moved in close until the backs of Sam’s thighs touched his pelvis. With an almost stern expression, he pressed the palm of his hand on the healer’s stomach and looked him over.

He laughed. Dean didn’t often take this kind of role with him, but when he did, he always seemed so serious about it. Like getting it done right was part of his job or something. But Sam loved it as much as when their positions were reversed. When Dean not only gave himself completely over to his soulmate but for a very short period of time actually allowed himself to be vulnerable. It was rare. And amazing. And unbelievably sexy.

Carefully, Dean moved the healer’s legs apart a little more, and with some superfluous guidance from Sam, he pushed forward and inside. He bent over him, reached up for his cheek, and caressed it. Grasping the hand, Sam pinned it there.

It felt unimaginably good. To experience how taut and warm he was—how his body moved as he entered it and how it didn’t yield completely to him—it was almost too much. He dropped even lower until his lips touched Sam’s chest. Lifting one of the younger man’s legs, he shifted position slightly before driving deeply again.

Sam closed his eyes. Breathing heavily, he made no attempt to hide the sorts of noises Dean’s rhythmic actions elicited. He loved everything about his soulmate’s method, from mechanical things like the angle and speed to the seemingly haphazard way his torso brushed against Sam’s. But the latter was just as vital. It allowed for basically a hands-free approach, while still delivering plenty of sensation in the right places.

And he had so much of it. More with every thrust. He clutched at Dean’s back as he forced oxygen into his lungs. “Dean,” he managed amongst a plethora of moans and other sounds.

His tongue darted out of his mouth and pressed into Sam’s skin. He followed it with a series of small bites that sent pleasure coursing through him in waves. Dean’s abdomen tensed and relaxed, and the muscles in his shoulders rolled with each movement. With sweat starting to bead on his forehead, Dean grinned. “I bet you’re close,” he breathed. His face was flushed, and Sam imagined it might be hot to the touch.

Sam raised both eyebrows. “Well, uh—” He took a few sharp breaths. “Yeah, a little.”

Moving faster, Dean ran his hands down Sam’s sides. “Dude. More than a little!” He thrust as deeply as possible, and the ecstasy it brought Sam, as well as himself, was utterly amazing.

“Oh God.”

“There we go.”

Just a few more. One final well-aimed push, and Sam couldn’t hold out any longer. He gripped Dean as tightly as he could without hurting him. Breathing quickly, his legs locked up against Dean as he came.

His soulmate continued on unfazed, near climaxing in his own right. Sam had no interest in stopping him. Post-orgasm, everything felt a thousand times more sensitive. There was little hope of a second go after such a fulfilling one, but he could still enjoy it. He kept up the moaning and breathing mostly for Dean’s benefit and tried to keep himself nice and tight for his soulmate’s optimal enjoyment.

It was over before he anticipated.

In truth, Dean had been desperately trying to last longer. He always wanted to see Sam get off first, wanted to watch his face and his body go through it. But being in that position—being inside him, feeling him like that—it took him there in no time. Hell, he was halfway to it the moment Sam took off his clothes. The anticipation alone did most of the work. He only barely achieved his goal.

He remained in that position for a few moments, his chest heaving from the workout. Eventually, he pulled away and threw himself down face-first next to Sam.

The healer touched him by the ear with his thumb. “Worn out?”

“Sex is awesome,” he said with a voice muffled by the sheets. “Like really, really awesome.”

Sam nodded, staring up at the ceiling. “You did okay.” 

Dean scoffed. “Just okay?” But when he lifted his head, he could see Sam was glowing. “Shut up, I’m awesome.” He let his head fall again and threw one arm over Sam’s chest.

“Maybe a little awesome.”


	3. Crime in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Dean eyed the menu suspiciously. Practically everything was in Italian. Real Italian. And he didn’t recognize most of it. Surely the words “ _spaghetti_ ” or “ _pizza_ ” had to be here somewhere.

This place exuded class. It was expensive and formal and not at all the type of locale Dean would have selected for dinner if it were up to him. But it wasn’t. Cas’d picked it. He walked past the little house-turned-restaurant on his way to class for months since it opened, and he said he was curious about the food.

And he wanted to go someplace nice to celebrate very likely passing his exams. Despite all his panic and worrying, it seemed it was for nothing. Once he sat down, the answers poured out of him like water from a faucet, and he felt really confident he’d at least gotten Bs, if not better. His companions were incredibly proud of him, though Sam showed it more. The dinner was his idea. “Any place you want, man,” he said. “My treat.”

Cas knew Dean wouldn’t love this particular restaurant, but he really wanted to try it, and it wouldn’t kill the ex-hunter to branch out a little.

Sam seemed to be enjoying himself, however. The added culture and a chance to dress up had him in an excellent mood, and he openly flirted with both of them from across the table. He wore a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up loosely and a tight-fitting vest, while Dean went with a slightly wrinkled plaid shirt at least one step below him in stylishness. Both looked wonderful in the angel’s opinion, and he was overjoyed at having them with him. For his part, Cas donned black with grey embroidery across the shoulders.

Dean eventually selected a pasta and beef dish with some help from his partners and hid his embarrassment with rolls and olive oil. Feeling adventurous, Sam went for an appetizer of snails—Dean felt a little sick watching him eat that—followed by greenery. And Cas had a delicious chicken and mushroom special.

An army of waiters kept the wine flowing. Sam insisted that Dean have at least one glass for a toast. He reluctantly agreed, but switched to beer afterwards. The angel found himself blushing from it in short order. Without much of the power he once possessed, Cas was a cheap date. But the opposite was true for the healer. He couldn’t get drunk or even tipsy very easily, and the amount it would take to try would cause alarm in a public setting. Sam liked the taste of wine, however, and being immune to its effects just meant he’d end up the designated driver.

Sam gestured with a half-filled glass in his hand. “But look, you could do anything you want with a degree like that,” he explained. “If you don’t want to be a therapist, you could do research or advocacy or anything that means knowing how people think and what makes them tick.”

“Yeah.” Cas cut into what was left of his meal, but he didn’t bring the resulting piece to his lips. As much as he loved psychology, he had no idea what he would do with it when and if his studies were completed. But since he was at the halfway point, he should probably start thinking about it.

He didn’t technically have to do anything. The Winchesters neither required nor even asked him to contribute financially, and they cherished the time he spent in their company. Dean treated Cas’s academic pursuits as a sort of hobby the angel had for part of the year. To him, it wasn’t going to result in a career or even a job. It was just a way for Cas to be happy.

Well, _happier_. 

But the angel did have one idea. “I dunno, I—maybe social work or something. Mentoring.”

“Like children?” There was skepticism in Dean’s voice.

“Maybe. I mean, yeah. This city is full of kids who don’t have a whole lot, you know? And they could use someone to talk to and help them out.” He was already good at fixing people’s problems. Why not target those who needed it most? And he loved having youngsters who looked up to him. His nieces did—once. He’d been a pretty good babysitter. But he hadn’t seen them since that fateful night, and he missed them. Maybe this could be his calling.

Sam beamed. “You’d be great at that, Cas. Seriously.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, of course. And you know we’d support you.”

But Sam spoke prematurely. When Cas looked over at Dean, he found him brooding over his plate. Eventually, “Kind of a big jump from phone porn to the grandmother on _Judging Amy_ …”

Sam shot him a glare as Cas’s heart sank.

“A lot’s happened since then, Dean,” the angel retorted quietly. He took a long sip of his wine. Why couldn’t Dean just let him have this? It wouldn’t hurt anybody or even really take much time away if he only worked for half the week.

Somehow, he doubted even a part-time gig would be okay with Dean. And though the ex-hunter offered up no explanation, Cas could reasonably guess. An outside job meant more interacting with strangers—more of a chance someone would catch on to who and what they were, and what they did behind closed doors. And it meant independence from the other two. It was tantamount to running away to California—like Sam going off to Stanford—for part of the day, even if he only worked in nearby neighborhoods.

Which, Cas supposed, was why Sam seemed to have no trouble with the idea. The healer knew independence. He knew what it was like to be completely on his own. He couldn’t do it now, because of the strengthened bond, but he’d had it in the past.

Dean’s whole life, however, was about protecting, defending, and leading other people. He attached himself to others, defined his personal worth by their wellbeing and successes. If Sam wanted to leave, or Cas, then he wasn’t doing his job correctly. Or worse, they weren’t grateful for the things he sacrificed on their behalf.

It was a cosmic overreaction to what really amounted to just two people trying to stand on their own feet for awhile.

Before Dean could drum up a second hurtful statement in response, Sam intervened. He draped one arm over Cas and kissed him above his eye. “Hey, Maxine Gray was my favorite character on that show,” he proclaimed. “We can’t hog everything Cas has to offer, right? And it’s not very likely that we’re ever gonna have kids…”

Cas leaned into him a bit, grateful both for the sentiment and the intimacy. It’d been a long week of studying and anxiety—and now this—but Sam was there for him, even if Dean couldn’t or refused to be. His scent, sweet and familiar, filled the angel’s nose and only served to further calm him. What he needed and wanted was this. The kind of compassion and love Sam was so quick to offer the moment tension or conflict arose.

Dean shrugged. If he thought anything more on the issue, he didn’t share it.

Sam motioned to the waiter to bring the check, but he kept his expression light, and, more importantly, he kept a strong hold on the angel. “But, dude, we don’t have to worry about any of that for awhile,” he pointed out. “Cas’s still got two whole years of college life to live it up!” Twisting in his seat to face the angel, Sam kissed his cheek and rested his hand high up on his leg. “And, in the meantime, between all those exams and papers, I can think of a few things to distract you from career planning.”

Blushing, he thought with amusement that he was happy to do some research on that.

***

The muscles in his chest began to burn. Breathing heavy, Sam pushed through it for two more blocks before coming to a stop in front of a hardware store. He doubled over, supporting his weight with both arms propped against his legs. God, he was out of shape.

He jogged a couple of times a week if he was up to it, and still worked out semi-regularly, but today his vacation finally afforded him enough energy to try a full run—his first in more than a year. And it didn’t take long for his neglect to catch up to him. Sweating, he was even a little in pain, a rarity for someone whose body healed itself. He’d forced the automatic healing process to a standstill just long enough to teach himself a lesson for relaxing his exercise routine.

Once, Sam’d been in excellent health. Beyond being disease-free, he strove for perfection when it came to keeping fit. And not just to look great naked, though his companions certainly appreciated it. It was a necessity. Hunters had to be in good shape so they could stand a chance against creatures a lot stronger than them. Even Dean was physically well-trimmed back then, though he kept terrible nutrition. Now, he surprisingly welcomed eating home-cooked, healthier meals.

For his part, Sam only made the effort to exercise when he wasn’t too exhausted. He still looked very muscular and thin, though some of the definition had relaxed slightly. He ate decently enough, but his current daily habits revolved mostly around doing his job. He dressed better, drank more caffeine, and spent time each day reading medical journals, to which he had several subscriptions. Since none of them had killed anything bigger than a house spider in years, what was the point of keeping that lifestyle?

But it felt good to get outside and work up a sweat.

He let the energy heal his sore muscles. With the pain abated, Sam decided to go northward in a giant loop through an industrial area of the city, where the blocks were longer and there were fewer opportunities to give up and turn back.

Twenty minutes later, he stopped again to rest and think about a route home. He could try navigating this area until he found a cross street he recognized, or he could simply head back the way he came. Sam was still deciding when, about half a block behind him, he heard footsteps. Nothing strange for a busy city. But when old instincts insisted that he look, whoever made the sound was nowhere in sight. He adjusted one of his sneakers, drank from a water bottle quickly, and then slowly doubled back toward the sound.

But he got all the way to an intersection without seeing anything.

Jogging replaced running as he traveled downhill. After a block, he heard shoes on sidewalk following him. Two pairs. He tried to look back without being obvious. The figures, two men in their forties, were keeping pace with him. Though they wore running shoes, they certainly weren’t dressed for a summer jog. Both instead were clad in full suits—jackets, ties, and all. A second, closer look revealed that they weren’t sweating and didn’t particularly seem out of breath or fatigued.

A quick glance around revealed literally no one else in sight. And he was completely unarmed.

Shit.

At a corner, he stopped, and so did the pursuers, maintaining a distance of about a third of a block. When the light turned so he could cross, he suddenly dashed the other way, nearly getting sideswiped by a utility van. The move caught them off-guard, but, nonetheless, they were soon right behind him again.  

Whatever the things were—he doubted human—they effortlessly gained on him. With his heart pounding in his chest, he tried to think fast. If he could find a large amount of people, maybe they would back off. Or, he could try fighting them, but he had nothing to combat them with. He made a beeline down the hill, pushing his body to go as fast as physically possible. Something ripped in his side. A tendon that connected muscle to bone, the energy told him. He grunted, but simply healed it and kept going.

A quick look behind him revealed what the things were. For a split second, their eyes turned completely black. Only one thing did that.

Demons.

Barely able to breathe, he searched for something, anything, to give him an edge. He could try reciting the words to an exorcism, but without something to restrain the two, it wouldn’t do much good. And, anyway, his mind was clouded. He’d spent more time over the past week memorizing diseases than he had reciting the necessary words to banish demons—in all of the last three years. Though he could probably call up the information if he just had a moment to catch his breath, he wasn’t sure he’d get it right. And it had to be close to perfect if the demons weren’t injured beforehand.

But luck was on his side. He overshot a corner grocery store, spun around, and headed back. The move caught his pursuers by surprise. Once inside, Sam slipped past an elderly woman and quickly found the biggest canister of salt they had. He fumbled in his wallet, found a five-spot, and slapped it on the counter near the register. His life depended on him not waiting for the change. Careful not to spill any, he got the thing open as he forced his way through a back door and into an alley.

Now, Sam had more options. There were tons of doors along this narrow street, and many were for loading and deliveries, meaning they’d been left open and unguarded. If he could just get in one of these buildings without being seen—

But the duo burst out of the store behind him before he had the chance.

He whirled, spraying them both with an arch of salt. Steam rose up from where it touched them, and they retreated. Backing away, “Uh, shit… Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus s-spiritus, uh, omnis satanica potestas…”

“Give it up, boy,” sneered the larger one. “You ain’t a hunter anymore.”

“…omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. _Ergo_ ,” he over-emphasized that word with as much attitude as possible, “draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica ajura—adjuramus te.” Thinking quickly, he tossed another spray of salt at their faces and ran for the nearest building. The open doorway received a generous line of the stuff to keep them out. “Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis!”

But they didn’t wait around to be exorcised. The eight-floor building, which seemed to house a sizable restaurant on the ground level and offices above, must have had dozens of points of entry. They’d merely find another or catch him when he came out.

So, he climbed. He took the back stairs all the way up to the roof. The building was only about ten feet away from a series of townhouses—but they were five stories shorter. He had to try. At the far end was a busy street full of people and a million avenues to get lost. Half a container of salt wasn’t going to do the trick against these guys. His only hope was evading or getting back home, where he could actually defend himself. Taking a gulp, he tucked the canister into the waistband of his shorts.

Five stories was a long drop, though. And it’d be eight if he couldn’t stick the landing on the slanted roofs. Even if he did, he’d probably brake something. One or both legs. Maybe an arm, depending on how he landed. Could be other damage. Hemorrhaging. Tearing. The closest house had an iron fence with spikes along the top. If he landed inside, he’d be safe temporarily from the demons. But if he landed on it? Massive internal bleeding. If he fell on his head, he could die.

Assuming that was possible. Without actively preventing his healing power from working—which Sam couldn’t do while unconscious—or draining all the power away, every wound healed automatically. He wasn’t sure even a neck break or a catastrophic injury could kill him now, so long as his batteries were mostly charged.

Regardless, it was going to hurt. A lot. And he no longer had a strong pain tolerance, since he rarely had to endure anything that hurt for very long.

He spent a few seconds sizing up the jump before deciding to try and land on his feet and then roll forward to his hands. Ideally, rolling back would be better, but not on an incline like that. He’d just fall.

“Fuck,” Sam swore under his breath.

He took five steps back, inhaled deeply, ran to the edge, and jumped.

No attempt at slowing himself in the descent seemed help, though he waved his arms around like in movies anyway.

Both legs snapped on impact—full, compound fractures. His left elbow connected next, and a bone broke there, too. He let out a cry as his calves folded under him. He was falling. With the uninjured arm, he reached out. He wanted to grab the apex of the roof, but his fingers slipped off. Instead, he hooked onto the chimney, though he also had to use the bad arm to keep a grip on it.

Pain surged through him. Already, his system was at work fixing it, but it was a big job, and he didn’t have time. He diverted more energy than usual to the task of mending what he utterly destroyed.

It didn’t take long. Two minutes, tops, as he hugged the brick structure. With the surrounding tissue still aching from remembered pain, Sam scrambled to his feet and carefully sprinted away from danger. He ducked low, trying to hide from view, should the demons end up on that side of the high-rise. At the end, he looked down and was pleased to find scaffolding propped up against the wall. It seemed the final home was undergoing renovations. For all intents and purposes, they could’ve left him a ladder.

He climbed down with little difficulty and jumped the fence. At practically the very middle of the city, there were swarms of people milling around. He immediately dove into a group of them, keeping his head down. It was only about three blocks away from home.

If he could just get two blocks undetected, he could easily run the rest. So, he kept as small as possible—not an easy task given his height. When the upper corner of the house finally came into sight, he broke from the pack and jogged to the front door. He didn’t relax until it was closed and locked behind him.

Cas heard the door slam and appeared near the kitchen, a glass and towel in his hands. He took one look at Sam and was immediately alarmed. “What happened?”

He leaned against the frame and closed his eyes. “I think somebody doesn’t like what we’re doing here.”

After abandoning the objects on a nearby shelf, the angel rushed over, taking up Sam’s face in his hands. “What happened? Are you okay? Did something attack you?”

“I’m fine,” he assured him. “Really. But there were two demons. I didn’t get ‘em. I just got away.”

“Dude, you weren’t armed?” came from across the room. It was Dean, who stood near the stairway that led down to the basement.

Sam scoffed. “I haven’t left the house with a weapon in more than a year, Dean. I mean, why the hell would I? I’ve had no reason to.” Their domestic life up until this point had been incredibly quiet and secure.

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “You really think just ‘cause nothing’s attacked us in awhile that we’re safe?” He strode past the healer to the front window, pulled back the curtain, and looked out. “C’mon, Sammy, you’re smarter than that. We’re fucking sitting ducks here. With a big neon sign that says ‘come get us.’ And you go out by yourself with no protection. Because, why? You think you’re invincible?”

“Dean, I—” But before he could form a retort, Sam stopped himself. This was Dean—this was his soulmate—upset that Sam’d put himself in danger, upset that he could’ve lost him. That’s what it came down to. Concern. Worry. Love. Masquerading as anger and annoyance. “I’m okay. I got some salt,” he shook the canister for effect, “and there were only a couple of them. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Expressly avoiding any mention of specifics, he slid out of Cas’s grasp and walked over to him. With a somber expression, he bent down until he could kiss the side of Dean’s head. “Are all of our traps still good?”

He nodded. “I’ll check ‘em again, but yeah, should be. And they’re idiots if they think they’re gettin’ in here.”

“I’m glad you made it home safe,” Cas said what Dean was thinking. “That’s the important thing. We can bring up some weapons from downstairs, and rent some movies on-demand or something.”

As soon as Cas said it, Dean headed back toward the basement to gather supplies. He wasn’t going to take any chances. And though he attempted to conceal it, both of his partners could tell he was spooked.

“What I don’t get is: why now?” Sam peered out the window, too, but the street was quiet. Normal. “We’ve been doing this a long time without a peep from anything bad. Philly is the cleanest city on the map now, because if there’s ever a job, there’s three times as many hunters here at any given point to deal with it. And because of us, people are coming to retire here, or they set up shop nearby. It’s just weird, you know?”

“Maybe we helped somebody who has a hit out on them,” Cas theorized, going the mobster movie route. “Or we’re just so effective now that they want you—us—gone.”

With Dean out of earshot, Sam switched gears unexpectedly. “Cas, what if this is starting again? What if this is us getting back into it?” he said only loud enough for him to hear. “Dean, he’ll—” He gulped. “If there’s any danger to either of us, he’ll go right back to being a hunter, man. Like it’s nothing. And he’s gonna get killed. I know it.”

The angel moved in close and brushed back Sam’s hair. He rested the palms of both hands on his chest. “Shh. None of that’s happened, yet. I don’t know if any of it will. So, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? I’m sure when those demons are gone or dead and everything dies down again, Dean will make the right call.”

“We have to make sure he does,” Sam insisted in a whisper. His whole body trembled. If the healer could still have nightmares—or dreams at all for that matter—they would be about his soulmate becoming a hunter again.

“Sweetheart, we will.” He tried his best to reassure him. “But right now, we have to let him keep us safe. We can’t fight him on that. I know you want to, but we can’t. Dean will do whatever it takes to protect us. That’s the way he is, and it’s one of many reasons why we love him so much, isn’t it?” He kissed Sam gently. “And that’s how I know he’ll stay with us, right here. We just have to take care of this problem first and trust him.”

Sniffing, Sam looked at him a long time before responding. “He really likes hunting.”

“He likes us more,” Cas replied quickly and confidently, just in time for Dean to return.

His arms were laden with jugs of holy water, shotguns, and a large bag of rock salt. He set the items on Sam’s desk. Without a word, he began emptying the bag on their windowsills.

Sam left him to it. He needed a shower after all the running, and he didn’t really want to watch Dean slip into defense mode. He loved the life they had. Everything about it, from the peace and quiet and the hours spent giving each other attention to his job helping others. He couldn’t watch it unravel, even if it was just temporary.


	4. Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

On the last day of his “vacation,” Sam sat in front of his laptop for a few hours, tinkering with the online scheduler. Since demand was so high, hunters in need of non-emergency assistance were strongly encouraged to make an appointment, or risk not being served on the day they wanted. In order to get a login account, the hunter’s identity had to be confirmed by the trio first, but once that was settled, any hunter could access the site, select an available time slot, and then be guaranteed a healing.

The times were more like suggestions. The site’s real purpose was to ensure that Sam didn’t heal more than twenty people on a given day. He could do more—and occasionally had to when there was an emergency—but twenty allowed him to reasonably recover for the next day. After his near-death experience in his first few months on the job, Cas had insisted he take precautions so that it never happened again.

And Dean was relieved once he had.

The system also allowed for sending emails to his patients. This was helpful when he needed an unplanned break or, in today’s case, a way to warn them to be on the lookout for demons. He sent each one a slightly modified email about the matter. For the hunters he knew for sure regularly went after demons, he encouraged them to spend a little extra time in the city trying to weed them out.

Any injuries incurred doing so, he added, would be treated on the house.

Dean had gone out looking for demons twice in the last day, but each time, he came up empty. Sam wasn’t sure if that was because they were gone or hiding, or maybe the slim possibility that his soulmate was rusty, but either way, the healer greatly preferred to leave the hunting to active hunters.

***

A muscle that extended from his arm into his shoulder showed early signs of cramping. He tried to ignore it, but slowly it escalated, and the pain proved a distraction. He tried to shift position a little, but the restraints held him in place. The rough cords dug into his wrists. When he applied extra force, it was to the same result.

He took a moment to compose himself and decide on a plan of attack. Trying to reason with him wouldn’t help. Maybe begging?

Yeah, that would be incredibly effective on the King of Hell.

But maybe confidence might work. He lifted his head, tilted it to the side, and grinned as evilly as possible. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, Crowley.”

“Oh, is it? And how’s that, love?” he returned, pacing around the well-furnished room. It was some sort of mansion, clad in wood and old but expensive textiles. Daylight came in from several windows, but at this angle, Cas couldn’t see out. He could sense they weren’t on the ground floor, but he had no idea how far down it was.

He straightened in the chair. “What do you think you’ll get from this—from having me here? There’s nothing you could say that would get me to love you. Nothing you could offer. No coercion. No threats. No amount of time.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetie. It’s already a given with you and your lot. You see, I think you’re hard-wired for it. You get all by yourself, and you just can’t stand it. And you come runnin’ for what you wanted all along, right? So, all I’ve got to do is make sure you’re alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

He laughed. “Well, not yet. But when my boys get done with your mates?” He seemed immensely proud of himself. “There won’t be a thing left to them, will there? Not a scrap for any of your old pals to put on the mend. But I’m a nice guy, and, hey, I got kind of a soft spot for you—a word to anyone, by the way, and I’ll rip your throat out—so I’ll tell you what. I’ll make sure it’s quick. And those two bastards, who aren’t even capable of pining for you as much as your little heart wishes they could—well, they’ll go off to their paradise and forget all about you. Like they always were going to. Like you’ve always known they would. And then it’s just us.”

Cas could feel his chest get tight. There was some truth to that. In the end, unless they found another way, Sam and Dean would go on, and he wouldn’t. And the bond the two shared had to be stronger. It was divinely reinforced. But they could never forget him, could they?

An eternity in Heaven might do just that.

But whether it was true or falsehood made no difference to the situation at hand.

“Have you even heard of the Winchesters?” Cas mocked. “Because if you had, I’m not sure why you’d think your flunkies would actually stand a chance against them. And it’s not just ‘cause they’re good hunters.” Or that they probably had help. “It’s ‘cause they won’t stop. They’re coming for me. It’s not wishful thinking. It’s fact. They’re coming, and they’re gonna kill everything that stands in their way. And they won’t think twice about it, and they won’t stop or rest until they have me back. And when they get to you? Oh, you better be ready. I know it’s out of your comfort zone, but maybe you should consider praying.”

“Slow death, then.” He headed for the exit. “I’ll let you know when you should start mourning.”

Cas gritted his teeth. “Is this how you treat the people you supposedly care about?” he called after him. Struggling against the restraints, “Tie them up, keep them as prisoners—threaten their families?”

The demon stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. He raised one arm, and the ropes broke apart and fell off. “Would it kill you to ask nicely? It’s almost like you don’t appreciate my hospitality, Cassie!” he chuckled. “Regardless, you have free reign of this house and all its luxuries, of course. But don’t think you’ll get far beyond it.”

He rubbed at his sore wrists. “If you actually loved me, you’d let me go completely.”

Looking back over his shoulder, Crowley let out a sigh. “Is that how it works?” His voice sounded more solemn than Cas could ever remember hearing. “Then I bet you’re ready to let your lovers go, right? When the time comes?”

The angel couldn’t think of a good response.

“I didn’t think so.”

***

Things were quiet for almost a whole week. Life returned to business as usual, and as Cas had predicted, Dean mostly fell back into his normal routine. Save for one difference: for a few hours per night, he would sit near the front door with a jar of holy water and a salt gun and just stare out the front window in vigilance. But even that slowly faded with time and a little subtle pressure from Cas, and he spent less and less of their evening keeping watch.

Friday morning began normal enough with three pre-scheduled patients arriving on or near their scheduled times. After Sam finished with them, he headed for the kitchen for a refill on his coffee. Dean and Cas were hiding there, staying out of his way and flirting with each other over a late breakfast. It was nice to see them getting along. Sam waved, but didn’t interrupt. He was heading back to his desk when there was a loud pounding at the back door.

“Help! Please! Anyone in there?! Help! I need help!”

Sam set his drink down and strode quickly to the door. He swung it open without looking. The voice he recognized as his fourth appointment for the day. But when he stood back to assess the situation, it was far from what he expected.

Half-kneeling at the top of the ramp was Eric, a regular patient and werewolf hunter who hailed from New Jersey, just over the river. He’d broken his hand, again, and was back to have it fixed. But cradled in his arms was a woman, covered in injuries, and all-around in bad shape. An emergency case, for sure. And near death by the look of her.

Sam didn’t recognize the girl, who had long dark hair that fell about her shoulders in curls. From what he could tell under the blood and broken bones, she had a very natural beauty. Warm skin and curves, full lips, and nice enough clothing. But front and center were her wounds, glaring at him and overwhelming his inner sense. On the outside, she shivered, her arms twisted up against her chest. She didn’t seem aware of her surroundings or their presence.

“You took a job this morning? Already?” Most hunters weren’t exactly early risers, and the damage looked like it just happened.

He shook his head rigidly. Pushing past Sam, he brought the woman inside. “No, I—I hit ‘er with my car. She ain’t a hunter, far as I know.”

“Whoa, what? You know you can’t bring outsiders in here, dude.”

“I know, I know, but she’s—I mean, look at ‘er. She’s fuckin’ toast. She just—I didn’t see her—and then she was under my damn tire. She ain’t gonna make it to a hospital, okay? And I still got ‘er blood all over the hood of my Toyota. The trunk’s full of weapons, man. How the hell do I explain that to the cops?”

“Fuck.” Sam knew he was right. The woman was fading fast.

“I’ll pay you double,” he pleaded. “We can blindfold ‘er. I don’t care. I just don’t want this girl’s death on my hands.”

He reluctantly put his hand on her forehead and healed her until she was stable but still unconscious and badly injured. That bought him some time to think. The ruckus attracted his partners, who watched from the doorway. They were willing to let him try and find a solution, at least for the time being. It wasn’t the first non-hunter he’d healed, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but this was the first stranger who’d made it all the way into their home. She could jeopardize everything.

First order of business. “Uh, Dean, could you, umm, get the hose and help Eric rinse off his car? I don’t think we want it parked on our property looking like that.”

Hesitating, Dean squinted at them, but after a moment, he nodded. “Yeah, sure, Sammy.” He walked past his brother and down into their tiny parking lot.

With him and Eric gone, Sam motioned for Cas to help him move the injured woman. They picked her up and set her down on one of the benches in the main room. He touched her face again, and she roused, just barely.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked.

She only opened her eyes by a fraction. “Rosa.”

“Okay, Rosa. You took kind of a tumble outside. You’re gonna be fine, but, uh, you should rest for awhile.” He healed her a little more. “I bet you’re already feeling better, huh?”

She groaned and rolled away from him, facing the wall. Sam got up and pulled Cas into the stairwell. In a low voice, “How do I make her unconscious? I mean, heal her all the way, but put her out? I know you could do it once. Teach me.”

“Sam, I don’t—I don’t know if you can. That’s basically healing plus—well—hurting, which you’re not capable of.”

“It’s the best idea I’ve got, Cas.”

He pulled Sam close. “It’s a bad one. Even if you can, you shouldn’t, and do you really want to use her as a test subject? You could kill her. Painfully. That’s not what you want, Sam.” Maybe, someday, Sam could learn basic sedation techniques, starting small, but they’d never attempted it, and an emergency like this was not even remotely the right time to try something new.

Sighing, “Well, then what?”

“We can just talk to her.”

The back door slammed shut, and both could hear shouting. “Sam? Cas?!”

They returned to the main room to find Dean and the hunter standing with frantic expressions.

“Where the hell did you go?”

“We were just in the next room, why?” But as soon as he asked it, Sam understood the problem. Their charge—Rosa?—was nowhere in sight. Dean had assumed the worst: that she was some sort of creepy crawly, and she’d gotten the jump on his lovers. But the alternative wasn’t much better. If she’d gotten away, she could be leading authorities back to their home as they spoke.

Cas stared at the place where she’d been moments earlier. “Shit.”

“I doubt she went out the front door,” Sam said quickly. “We would have heard it. And she didn’t go upstairs. Any chance she slipped out the back?”

Dean glared at him. “I think we would have seen her, don’t you?”

Eric shifted his weight anxiously. “Ain’t you’s guys got a basement?”

“Filled with fucking weapons, yeah,” Dean growled. He marched over to Sam’s desk and produced a handgun. He tossed it to his brother before selecting a shotgun for himself. Eric pulled out a large knife from a sheath on his belt, and the three headed for the stairs down. Cas made to follow them, but Dean stretched one arm in his direction to stop him. “No. Ut-uhh. You stay right here.”

“Dean,” he protested.

Sam looked back at the angel. “Just give him a gun, too.”

“Nope. Not happening. Cas hasn’t been target shooting in years. If he hits anything, it’ll be one of us. You’re a liability, and you’ll be in danger. Just stay put. In fact, go upstairs and lock yourself in somewhere.”

Cas raised his chin defiantly. “I’m not a child, Dean. I can help.”

Shaking his head, “I can’t risk it. And I won’t. Get upstairs. Right now, man. Please, just do it.”

He looked at the other two in the hope they would take his side, but Sam averted his gaze, and the hunter/patient simply shrugged. Irritation touched every nerve in his body. How could Dean talk to him like that? Treat him like he couldn’t take care of himself? He cared for them often enough! Pissed off, he turned and climbed up to the den, where he shut to door, locked it, and turned on the TV. He had no doubt three hunter types could take on a half-dead girl from off the street. But he still didn’t see much reason for being excluded.

The three slowly made their way down to the basement with Dean in the lead. He aimed the gun wherever his eyes pointed. In the main room at the base of the rickety stairs, there was no one to be seen, but the light was on, and Dean never, ever left it lit when he wasn’t down there. And moreover, there were sounds in the secondary room, where they kept most of the weapons for sale to hunters.

Rummaging. Items clicked together as she pulled open drawers and ripped things down off the walls. Guns and more guns. They had so many weapons. But she wasn’t looking for those.

Dean approached quietly, the shotgun pointed straight at the woman’s small form. But once he was fully around the corner, he found one of his own revolvers directed right at his head. The aim was perfect, but she didn’t look up, didn’t stop searching.

“I’d put that down, lady. There’s three of us, and we’re really good shots.”

Without turning, “And what do you think I am, pretty boy? I wouldn’t pick this thing up if I didn’t know how to use it.” She shut a drawer and opened the one beneath it.

Dean tilted his head to one side. “Then why do you still have the safety on?”

She laughed loudly. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you? This gun doesn’t have a safety. Do you treat all women like this, or just the ones who get into your private stash? No wonder you surround yourself with dick.”

As though on cue, Sam appeared at his side, extending the handgun in her direction. Dean felt just an ounce better with his soulmate there to back him up. He tried a different approach. “Hey, if you need a gun, you can have that one. Take it. It’s yours. We’ve got a few to spare. I’ll even get you a box of bullets if you quit pointing that thing at people in my house.”

Rosa snorted. “I’m not interested in any of your precious firearms, you condescending fuckwit.”

“Look, we don’t know anything about you.” Sam spoke up, hoping he might have better luck than his partner. “And we’re sorry if we’ve offended you. But if you’re not looking for a weapon, then what exactly are you hoping to find? All we got is weapons down here, Rosa. Weapons used to kill bad things.”

“The talisman or magic object you’re using,” she said plainly. “I want it, and you’re going to give it to me.”

“What?” Sam didn’t understand.

The question seemed to infuriate her, and impatience was readable all over her face. But when she attempted to clarify, she coughed instead, and blood appeared at the corners of her lips. She wiped it away with the back of her free hand.

Steadying herself against the cabinet, Rosa straightened her back. “I know what you are, Sam Winchester. I know what you do. I’ve been following you, and your gay lovers. I know you’re using a talisman to heal other hunters. It’s the only thing it could be. So, if it isn’t here, it’s on your person. Give it to me, or I’ll kill your male model fuck buddy.” She cocked the gun for effect.

It took everything Dean had not to shoot her right that instant. “Hold on a minute…”

“There’s nothing to give,” Sam cut in. “You got it wrong. I’m not using any object at all. I’m just not—we’re not—a hundred percent human.” It killed him to have to say any of this in front of one of his patients. With hunters, information and rumors spread like wildfire.

“You certainly act human!” she retorted. “You eat, sleep, fuck. If you can call what the three of you do ‘fucking’…”

“That’s enough of that.” Dean wagged the gun at her. This woman had invaded their lives, and now she was judging them, along with making threats and demands. One more word of that shit, and he was definitely going to shoot her. Of course what they did counted as sex. This was the twenty-first century, not the Dark Ages.

She grinned. “Oh, did I strike a nerve? Poor baby. Give me the talisman, and I’ll leave.”

“Hey, shut the fuck up,” Dean ordered. “We don’t have anything to give you, bitch, and even if we did, we sure as hell wouldn’t cough it up for you. So, put the gun down before we waste your ass.”

“Sorry, boy. I’m not leaving without the healing power. It’ll be a nice addition to my repertoire.” The whole house began to shake.

“We don’t have anything!” Sam echoed. “It’s a part of me. I couldn’t give it away if I wanted to.”

“You ain’t a hunter. Then, what are you?” Eric asked the woman, hanging behind the Winchesters.

She chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious? I dabble.”

“You’re a witch,” Dean guessed.

“Bingo.”

“Sold your soul to the devil,” Sam added.

She shook her head. “Now, why the hell would I do that, Bigfoot?”

“Because that’s what witches do? You sell your soul and get some juice for awhile, and then you’re some demon’s plaything.” If she didn’t stop with the name calling, Sam was seriously considering shooting her, too.

“Not me, honey. There’s plenty of magic in this world without eternal damnation attached.”

“This whole conversation is pointless.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t care where you get your mojo from, or even who you are. Sam’s doesn’t detach. It’s _in_ him. He can’t give it away. It’s something I’d bet you probably ain’t even heard of, lady. And you can ask for it all you want, but there’s nothin’ we can give you. And we wouldn’t, anyway.” He sighed. “And, quite frankly, you’re pissing me off.”

In the blink of an eye, Dean disappeared from where he stood and reappeared behind Rosa. He hit the back of her head with the butt of his shotgun without hesitating, and she collapsed like a sack of potatoes. He looked up at the other two, fully aware that an outside hunter had just seen something he rarely even intentionally showed his companions.

Eric put up his hands. “Could I get my hand fixed, now? I don’t mean to rush you, but I got a job in Lancaster tonight, and city traffic is gonna be brutal.”

Sam laughed nervously. “No problem, man.”


	5. Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

“Rise and shine,” a voice broke into her daze. As she slowly regained consciousness, it kept talking. “Can you hear me in there?” it asked. When she pried one eye open, the figure was blurry at first. “Hi. I’m one of those gay lovers you mentioned.” Sam and Dean seemed particularly angered by her remarks and had no trouble filling him in. “You’ve been out for about ten minutes or so. Maybe fifteen.”

Slowly, Rosa acknowledged that her hands and feet were tied to a chair. “You’re the quiet one,” she replied. The one she couldn’t find damn near any information about. A wildcard.

“Actually, I’m the scary one,” Cas corrected, trying to sound menacing—confident. This woman had essentially broken into their home and posed a threat to the people he loved. He lucked out by being the one watching her in their guest bedroom when she awoke. And he wanted to make the most of it. “Thousands of years old. Not exactly human. Nice to see you’re not completely brain damaged.”

“Lucas.”

“Castiel.”

“What kind of creature are you?”

Angel of the Lord, fallen and sliced up in the name of love, living as normal and as human of a life as possible in the middle of Philadelphia. Nothing rare or difficult to believe about that, right? He cleared his throat. “I’d ask you the same thing. It takes a whole lot to throw yourself in front of a vehicle just for a chance at stealing something that doesn’t even exist.”

“Was tying me up really necessary?” She changed the subject.

“Well, I’m told you’re dangerous.”

“You could take advantage of me like this.” She batted her eyelashes at him, and, after a few tries, managed to form a crooked smile. It looked like perhaps there had been some damage from the blow to her head after all. Some of the muscles in her face didn’t seem to respond to her attempts to move them, much in the way someone could appear if they had a stroke. Maybe Dean had actually given her one by accident.

He rose from his chair quickly. “Me? Not likely.”

“You’re not inclined? Have you even tried a real woman? You might like it.”

Cas felt sick to his stomach. “Tied up? I’m all for bondage now and then, but I’m not a monster. And, no. I couldn’t be less interested. Sorry.” His body couldn’t, anyway. Emotionally, he had no issue with or distaste for women. And, technically, true angels had no sexual orientation. But his very human body had a very human sexuality, and women didn’t fit into the equation.

“Not even a little? You have two love interests, what’s one more?”

As though it were that simple. He didn’t want or need anyone else and couldn’t even picture himself looking. He’d given up everything for them. Gladly. No other human or creature could compare.

This was getting tedious.

Where were the other two, anyway? They didn’t want to leave Cas alone with the witch for very long, and for once, he agreed with their cautious approach. If he never had to speak with this woman again, that would be fine by him. Narrowing his eyes at her, “I am more loyal to them than you could even imagine.” He paced to the door of the guest bedroom, opened it, and looked out into the hallway. “And I have no intention of letting you go. That’s what you want, right? That’s what this is about?” He forced a laugh. “You picked the wrong person, sweetie, not that it makes any difference. It’d be the same story, regardless. The other two? They’re soulmates.”

“Oh, that’s cute.”  
  
“No, I mean actually. Their souls are connected.” As an afterthought, “Sanctioned and crafted by God Himself.”

“How do you know that?” Her head drooped a little, as though she might lose consciousness again. She might even die, Cas thought with a small amount of sick satisfaction, without further intervention from their resident healer.

“Easy. I can see it.”

“Oh, yeah. I bet you can. And how do you fit in with their little _holy_ union?”

“I’m very lucky.” He heard footsteps on the stairs. “Something like that, like what we have—it must be inconceivable to you.” Looking over at her, his expression was dead serious. “To not have anything this pure and beautiful in your life, that would be awful. How can you stand it?”

She was still forming a reply when Dean made his way into the room.

Before he could ask if anything important happened, Cas grabbed him and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. He wanted this woman, with all her negative opinions and prejudices, to have a bird’s eye view of exactly what she was criticizing. Dean didn’t really know what had gotten into the angel, but mostly, he took moments like this when he could get them.

Rosa coughed. “Can I leave now? You know, I’d love to stick around and watch you two go all _Abercrombie & Fitch_ on each other, but believe it or not, I’ve got better things to do.”

Without taking his attention off of Cas, Dean laughed. He ran his hands over the angel’s hips. “So you can swing by later with a bunch of your coven buddies? Yeah, I don’t think so, girly.”

“I don’t have a coven.” Annoyance crept into her voice. They were a risk, a burden, and a pain in the ass. She’d tried one out for about a week when she was a teenager, and it left a bad taste in her mouth to this day. “And I think you better untie me.”

“Ooo, we better untie her!” Dean mocked.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Or what?”

She struggled against the bonds for a moment, but when they held tight, she smiled wickedly on one side of her face. Her eyelids closed halfway, but under them, her eyes rolled back into her head, so only the whites could be seen. Cas and Dean took a step back as her chair and many of the objects in the room began to shake. A lamp fell off the nightstand and smashed. Even the floor itself trembled.

But as soon as it started, everything went quiet. Rosa looked around with surprise. A line of blood began to drip from one of her nostrils, pouring over her lips and onto her green and brown plaid shirt. Moments later, she slumped over completely.

Dean sighed. He turned around and headed for the landing above the stairs. Clearing his throat, “Sammy? Hey, Sam!” he called down to the first floor. “I think we could use your services up here, dude.”

The healer took his time, bidding Eric farewell and locking the back door behind him. He had to make sure as little of what the man saw would end up being shared, so spending the extra time talking to the guy was more than worth it. When he finally arrived, he sized up the patient for a short time before touching her neck. She roused with a start, looked around frantically, and then moaned. “Fuck.”

“Are you gonna behave?” Dean asked in the most patronizing voice he could call up.

“Let me go.”

“Give us a good reason.” Sam walked past his companions to a dresser drawer and opened it. After a little searching, he found an orange bandana, which he brought over to her and tied around her eyes. It was mostly for effect. With one of her senses blocked, she would probably be easier to intimidate.

Dean approached, too. Leaning down by her ear, “We don’t even know why you pulled this stunt in the first place. So, you’re gonna stay put until we get an answer that doesn’t sound like total horse shit.”

Cas watched with fascination. This was the kind of treatment he imagined Sam and Dean used to dish out to demons and other creatures they hunted, if not toned down a bit. He hadn’t seen much of it before, what with attacks from angels being their primary concern. And then they’d retired. But both of the Winchesters seemed to fall back into it easily enough. Even Sam, who, despite his fears that Dean might return to the life, seemed equally willing in this instant.

She yawned. “I’m short on time, so how ‘bout this: I need the power to heal someone who is very ill, who’s gonna die. I was planning to sneak in here when the three of you left, but you fucking hermits haven’t budged in a week, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You wouldn’t have found anything,” Cas said from across the room. “Like we’ve been saying, Sam’s power doesn’t come from anything you could steal.”

“That’s a damn lie! I looked into you assholes. You, I couldn’t find anything past a few years ago.” She motioned with her head toward Cas. “But all it took was a brief chat with a hunter, who didn’t like me working my magic,” and who she easily overpowered and tied to a radiator, “and I found out everything about you two.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He found himself doing that a lot with this woman. She brought it out in him. “Oh, yeah?” Everything? Unlikely. Little pieces of information about them were floating out in the ether, but he highly doubted that any random hunter knew about more than a fraction of their lives. Even Bobby, who knew the most, wouldn’t be able to give her everything. Even if she could get the old man to talk, which was even less likely.

And he’d, of course, call them the minute she was gone.

“Yeah,” she sassed back at him. “I know who you are and who you hunted with. I know you’re brothers.” Her face contorted into a look of disgust. “Which is funny considering how you act in public. I guess that’s why you sick fucks changed your last names. Hard to explain that one to anybody. Even the free love hippy types this city’s full of.”

“I’m gonna hit her again…”

Sam raised one hand to implore Dean to hold off on that, at least for a few minutes.

Rosa continued as though he hadn’t said anything. “Anyway, I researched you all the way back to Kansas and your dead parents. You’re human. And humans don’t just all of a sudden become powerful healers. Not without a cursed or magic object, or a spell. Considering your opinion of witches…”

Patting her on the shoulder, Sam took a seat on the bed nearby. “And you didn’t happen to notice Dean’s little trip in the basement from right in front of you to behind you in about a second flat? That didn’t seem strange or abnormal to you? Or did you chalk that up to a talisman, too?”

“Working on it.”

“Well, let me clear things up for you. Angels are real,” Dean supplied, hoping to move things along. “Cas is one of them, and he gave us the abilities we have. Sam can heal, and I can fly. But the return policy’s expired. This trick can only be done by an angel once, and we only got one angel. You’re fresh out of luck.”

Her breathing grew heavy, and her jaw clenched. Her entire body radiated anger. Sam could feel it. “So, what you’re saying is, I need to fucking catch an angel?”

Dean scoffed. “Even if you could, you’d have a hard time convincin’ one to cough up the goods on your behalf. Ours is kind of a special case, and I dunno if you’ve noticed, but you got the personality of a possum with rabies.”

She didn’t react at first. After awhile, her body relaxed, and in a quiet voice she murmured, “Then there’s no hope.”

“Who exactly were you planning to heal, anyhow?” Cas asked, leaning against the wall.

“None of your business.”

“Uh huh, see, that’s where you’re wrong. You’re in our house, and we’re not gonna let you go until we’re satisfied you’ve told us every single thing we want to know about.” Sam kicked her chair for effect.

Fine. They obviously weren’t going to let her go unless she talked. “Someone very important to me, who would and has done a thousand times more for me than I could ever do in return. End stage cancer. Doctors are worthless. I’ve been looking for a solution for months. We’re out of time.”

“At any point, did you think maybe you should’ve tried asking?” Sam actually sounded offended. “I gave up hunting so that I could help people. That’s what I do. And that’s what we do here. Whatever you think of us,” he pulled out a pocket knife and opened it, “logic should’ve told you that what you need would not be denied.” He bent over and cut the ropes around her legs. Shortly after, he did the same to the bindings at her wrists.

Without skipping a beat, she pulled the bandana off and looked around the room. “You’ll do it?” she was still skeptical.

“Yeah, bring the person here, and I’ll fix it.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I can’t. She’s too sick. You have to go to her.”

“Out of the question,” Dean’s voice bellowed in the small room. “We have this little problem with some demons wantin’ us to stop healing hunters. They got it in for Sam. So, he ain’t leavin’ this house. And it’s not up for debate.”

“You have to. Please.”

“How far is it?” Sam asked anyway.

She swiveled in the chair to face him. “Five miles north of the city.”

“Not happening,” Dean insisted.

“You’re hunters, for fuck’s sake. You can take a few demons!”

“It could easily be a trap. This witch is not even remotely trustworthy,” he growled in her direction. Walking up to Sam, he addressed him directly. “I mean, don’t you think it’s one hell of a coincidence that she’s showing up right when we’re having a demon pest problem? Sammy, you’re not considering this…”

But he was. “We can be the better people here, Dean,” he said softly. “It shouldn’t take long, and we can go in armed to the teeth. First sign of trouble, and you can just zap us home. It won’t be that big of a deal.”

Dean sighed. “Cas, what do you think?”

“Sam’s choice,” was all he was willing to say. He wanted to express surprise that all of a sudden Dean wanted input from him on their personal safety, but he also had zero interest in starting a fight in front of this woman. She was already convinced their atypical romantic situation was something to be despised or ridiculed. The last thing he wanted was to give her more ammunition.

The healer smiled slightly. “Let’s go.”

He stood and, without another word, headed downstairs. Dean shot Cas a look of dissatisfaction before following him. The angel waited for Rosa to go, too, before joining the others. He didn’t trust this woman, either, and didn’t really want to turn his back on her.

Unsurprisingly, Dean was opposed to him tagging along. And Cas couldn’t think of a good retort, as much as it hurt to be confined and hidden away like some sort of expensive doll. But he knew—hoped—that at the heart of Dean’s overprotectiveness was love. So, he was willing to put up with it, at least for now. He stayed behind, warning them to be careful and to come back to him in one piece.


	6. You Can’t Always Get What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Sam and Dean took off with the witch in tow. For a city often snarled with traffic, there wasn’t much that morning. In the Impala, they made it out in a reasonable amount of time and zigzagged their way through suburban surface streets at her direction.

Their destination was an aging apartment building covered in ivy on one side. Dean pulled the car into a spot reserved for visitors and hopped out, looking around suspiciously. Rosa climbed out of the back, and Sam eventually went after them. They scaled several flights of stairs to a darkened hall where only one of the three lights was on, and even it was flickering. Immediately, Dean was on edge.

Rosa laughed. “Fixing the lights isn’t high up on the super’s to-do list. I assure you, it’s been like that for months. I stopped calling.” She picked through her keys until she found the right one and slid it into the lock. The apartment was equally dark inside, but she turned on a lamp near the door.

“Abuelita, I’m home! You’re never going to believe this, but I found someone who can help you.” Her voice took on a more jovial, human tone. None of the snark or hatefulness.

Dean and Rosa walked in deeper. The air smelled faintly of cleaning solution and chemicals. Unannounced to them, Sam stopped after three steps. His breath caught in his chest, and he covered his mouth with one hand.

Oh no.

“Abuelita? Are you asleep?” For the past few weeks, her grandmother would be out most of each day. Rosa stopped at the first bedroom and looked in, but she found it empty. She did the same with her own room, but it, too, was vacant. “Abuelita?”

In the main room, the two spied a figure in a recliner near a half-shuttered window.

“She sleeps a lot, now,” Rosa narrated for Dean’s benefit.

Before she could shake the woman awake, Sam finally summoned the courage to speak. “Wait.” He forced himself to walk closer. “Rosa, wait.”

“What are you on? She’s going to want to be awake for this.” Before he could stop her, she rested one hand on the elderly woman’s arm.

The witch’s jaw dropped open, and a noise—something like a sob or whimper—escaped from her throat. She took her hand away and backed up. “Oh, God.”

Dean felt left out. “What’s going on?”

“Cold. She’s ice cold.” Rosa tried to sit down on a couch without looking, but she missed and slid to the floor instead. Tears welled up in her eyes. “She’s dead. Fuck, she’s dead. We’re too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said plainly.

“God fucking damnit.” She made a weak attempt at holding back her crying, but gave up in the next instant. “I fucked up,” she moaned, burying her head in her arms.

Being in the presence of a recently deceased human actually made Sam hurt. The residual pain of her death lingered as energy that his internal senses picked up. He longed to be able to heal it, but that wasn’t possible. He could mend the dead body, but only an angel could pluck the soul from Heaven or wherever else it may have gone. And the pain of her death would only fade from this place with time.

“The woman who raised me is dead, and it’s my fault. And I wasn’t even here!”

Wincing, “She’s, uh, she’s in a better place, though. Peaceful. No more suffering at all.” Sam didn’t know that for sure, but if he could help, he intended to.

Since she wasn’t looking, he shot a glance at Dean and allowed the pain to be easily read on his face. His soulmate showed concern, but didn’t seem to know what to do, or fully understand what was going on. Sam made a mental note to explain it later.

“How the fuck can you even say you know that?!”

Sam backed away from the body a few steps. “Same way I can heal people. I just know it. And I also have faith.”

“Yeah, right. You don’t strike me as the faith-having type.” She sniffed loudly.

He rubbed his temple with two fingers, but it did nothing to ease his discomfort. “Well, I am.” That part wasn’t a lie. “And I have been for a long time.” After all, he certainly felt blessed, with Dean and Cas and his life now.

With a grunt, Dean signaled a vested interest in leaving. He got the impression that his soulmate needed an out. “You two can go to Bible camp together another time. We can’t stay a whole lot longer, Sammy.”

The tears returned. “I dunno why you’re even still here. Get lost. I gotta call somebody or something—so I can, you know, bury my grandmother.”

Sam couldn’t help but feel empathy for her, even though she was so abrasive. It didn’t seem like Rosa had many people close to her. At least, not beyond the old woman. Maybe she kept others at arm’s length. Or, perhaps her “cheerful” personality was a direct result of simple loneliness. With a few cups of ignorance, stubbornness, and spite mixed in.

Whatever the reason, she’d just lost someone, and she was hurting. And though he probably would have cared anyway, Sam’s energy forced him to sympathize. Emotional pain was still pain, just as a mental illness was still an illness. Her agony radiated off of her. It was almost as bad as the death itself.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He knew the words would probably fall on deaf ears, but he didn’t care. A little kindness could go a long way.

The two turned simultaneously and headed for the exit. Sam reached for the knob first, and swung the door open.

To their horror, on the other side was a three-hundred-pound man—with black eyes. He smiled.

Dean reacted first, slamming the door in the demon’s face and locking it. But the thing was flimsy, and they both knew the man could easily get it open, with or without a powerful creature inside of him. Dean drew his gun and kept it pointed down the hall as they moved back toward Rosa.

“What the hell?” she exclaimed.

Sam rushed into the kitchen, looking for salt. “Rosa, we need to get out of here,” he called back to her. “I know you’re upset, and you don’t trust or even like us, but there’s at least one demon who really, really wants to get in here, and I don’t think he’ll leave any witnesses.”

She glared at him as he applied a very thin line of salt to her hallway. It wouldn’t hold forever, and it was all the salt she had. There were windows everywhere and nothing but distance from the ground to keep demons out.

Slowly, Rosa pulled herself to her feet. She looked completely drained and unsteady, functioning entirely on rage and utter devastation. With her shoulders rigid, she stalked past them to a desk. Hex bags—little pouches filled with herbs and magic items—began flying in their direction. It seemed she might even be aiming for their heads.

“You don’t think I’m prepared?” she scoffed. “I’ve been a powerful witch since I was a teen. You don’t go that long without douchebags like demons and hunters trying to pay you a visit.” She pulled out an ornate-looking knife. More like a small sword. “You know, I was thirteen when the first hunter bastard tried to fucking kill me. Thirteen! Needless to say, it didn’t go well for him.”

“Are you done? We could just leave you here,” Dean retorted.

She shrugged. “Hold your horses, cowboy.” Setting the blade down, she walked casually past the line of salt to her bedroom. Moments later, she reappeared holding a bag full of personal items. Not a second after she re-crossed the demon barrier, the door burst open, and three demons shuffled inside. She wrinkled her nose at them. “Ugly fuckers, aren’t they?”

“So, how the hell are we gonna get out of here?” Sam looked out a window and down to the grass below. Four stories was obviously a jump he could make—painfully—but convincing the other two to do it, even with him healing them directly after, wasn’t going to be easy.

And he didn’t exactly want to bring up that he’d done it once before.

For his part, Dean didn’t know the locale well enough to fly to a nearby safe place, and he surely didn’t want to leave the Impala behind.

“How do you think? The front door.” Rosa grinned viciously at the intruders and picked up her weapon. Ignoring any further protests from the Winchesters, she advanced on the demons, the sword raised above her head. “You dickheads have really bad timing,” she warned. “You have fifteen seconds to get your asses out of this building before I start hacking off limbs.”

They weren’t easily intimidated by a woman in her early twenties who stood barely taller than five feet. But as the blade seemed to heat up—glowing orange—before their eyes, even the behemoth stepped back. Tinged with reddish light, her own face took on a devilish mask. Power and rage and irritation oozed from her. Sam really felt it, but Dean picked up on it, too. It was hard not to notice as the whole building began to shake.

“Who the fuck is this girl?” he whispered to the healer.

Before Sam could form an answer, Rosa cut one of the demons in half. Literally. Diagonally from left shoulder to right hip. The edges of both halves curled and flaked away like burned paper, and the creature’s insides spilled out onto the floor. She swung the blade back, blood spatter hitting Dean’s jacket and Sam’s face. With a sudden gust of wind, she rushed at the largest one, jumping into the air and plunging the weapon straight into his chest.

Along the hilt, strange markings lit up brighter than the rest. Sam suspected that the weapon’s effectiveness came not only from the heat but some sort of additional anti-demon spell. Whatever it was, the symbols weren’t Latin or anything else he recognized.

The big guy dropped like a stone. She yanked the blade out of a singed crater where his heart once resided and pointed it at the final demon. “Leave,” she ordered.

Backed into a corner by the door, the sickly looking creature sized up what remained of his colleagues. With a snort, “Our business isn’t with you, witch.”

“Uh, you’re in my grandmother’s apartment on the day of her death, genius. You’ve made this my business. And I really—I mean really—feel like killing something. But I’m gonna give you one last chance to go back to your bosses and tell them exactly what happens when a bunch of underpowered little shit stains interrupt my fucking mourning period.”

Dean had to stifle a laugh at her colorful language. Though, at the same time, he silently wondered if she was a sociopath or even a serial killer. A normal, well-adjusted person couldn’t do what they just witnessed. Especially considering that the creatures she was carving up were real people, likely innocents, who had the misfortune of getting possessed. Nonetheless, whether she was crazy or not, the woman’s power outmatched pretty much every other witch they’d encountered so far.

And she was young. Twenty two, tops. And that was her actual age or close to it, by the look of the deceased old woman. Though a lot of her brethren could pause time for themselves in much the way Sam did for the trio, and thus many witches were hundreds of years old, it didn’t look like Rosa had even contemplated it, yet. But that meant that she was this powerful already. What could she develop in decades or more? And how the hell was she doing it?

The surviving demon backed into the hallway. “We’re still coming for them,” he craned his head so that he could look at the men. “And we’re gonna send everything we’ve got.” With that, he turned and sprinted down the stairs at inhuman speed.

Rosa paused at the door and stared solemnly at the mangled corpses. “No point in trying to clean this up.”

Covering his nose and mouth to avoid inhaling the smell, Sam felt dizzy. He looked green around the edges. Dean, on the other hand, had no issue seeing the gore, even with a more mundane life taking over where hunting once prevailed. “What are you gonna do?” he asked the woman. “Can you conjure up a fake ID and skip town?”

She glared over her shoulder at him. “I used one to get the apartment. In case we ever needed to leave in a hurry.”

“Then, uh, good luck.” It was difficult to sound sincere when he didn’t really like her all that much. But she had wasted some demons essentially on their behalf, so Dean could at least extend some common courtesy. He paused for her to respond, but when she didn’t, he simply grabbed Sam by his jacket collar and pulled him past the gooey demon remnants and out the door.

Halfway down the first flight of stairs, they heard her voice call after them. “I’m coming with you. Back to your place.”

Dean swiveled where he stood with both hands on Sam’s arms. He couldn’t take the nausea away, but at least he could be there for him. “Like hell you are!”

“No, I am.” She caught up with them. Having closed the apartment door to buy them some time, she swung the bag, which contained everything of importance she owned, onto her back.

“Look, we appreciate the help back there. Really. But you’re a massive inconvenience, and you’re insane.”

Her chest heaved up and down as she breathed. “You need me. You need my protection. If I’m around, your demon problem isn’t a problem. It’s not even on the fucking radar. You can go back to what constitutes your lives.”

“What’s in it for you?” Sam held onto the bottom hem of Dean’s shirt for balance. “And if we repulse you so much, why the hell would you want to live in our house?” More importantly, even if she offered protection, why would either of them want to put up with this woman in order to get it? Their home was demon-proof or close to it. Leaving was a different story, but living inside wasn’t much of an issue.

Her back straightened, and she seemed to tense up. Eventually, “Call it a learning experience. I want to know more about healing and angels.” And she had a very strong urge to try and convince one to give her some of those wonderful abilities. They could certainly come in handy. Not that she had anyone now, other than herself, that she valued enough to heal. But that was irrelevant. After a long pause, “And I figure one of the best ways to keep hunters off my tail would be to live with their messiah.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

Before Sam could finish his thought, Dean reached up and turned the healer’s head so that he had to face him. “Let’s think about this for a sec.”

“What’s to think about, Dean? We don’t need the help. We’re fine.”

Shaking his head, “No, dude, we’re not fine. There’s a bunch of demons gunnin’ for you, Sammy. And anything we can do to put the brakes on that is at least worth considering, don’t you think?”

“We could find something else, then.”

He moved closer to Sam and stared up at him with big eyes. “Think of it like us parking a howitzer out front. Maybe with a little show of force, the sons of bitches will give up. And, anyway, we’re not really using the guest room for much. We could put her in there.”

Sam hated the idea. “But Cas—” The angel would hate it even more. Sam’d rarely seen him as annoyed as he was with Rosa. And not having a say in big decisions frustrated him to no end. Dean may not have picked up on it yet, but more and more, Cas seemed to get upset even at little things where he felt left out. This wasn’t little at all.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“He’s gonna be pissed,” Sam warned. “Just—I dunno. Make sure you talk to him, okay? I mean actually talk. Otherwise, I don’t care. Fine.” Maybe having her around would keep Dean from slipping back into the hunter lifestyle.

After a pause, Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

Turning to the witch, “Let’s go. Before I change my mind.”


	7. Chemicals Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Every line of the exchange only seemed to make things worse. Dean was terrible at explaining himself when Cas was upset. Even after all this time, he never knew what to say in arguments with the people he loved. He couldn’t handle it—the risk. The idea that with the wrong words he could screw it all up. But faltering did exactly what he was afraid of. The heated conversation drove Cas practically to tears. He looked and felt betrayed. Panicking, Dean did the only thing that came to mind: he defended his point.

But that was the problem. “No,” Cas repeated. “We’re not bringing this woman into our house. Absolutely not.”

“Look, we could use the extra help.”

“I really don’t care!”

“Yes, you do. C’mon. You care about our safety as much as I do!” he returned. “That’s all this is. Me findin’ a way to keep us safe.”

Cas broke his gaze. “I care about a lot of things, Dean, but it doesn’t seem to matter to you. When it comes down to it, you’ll do whatever the fuck you want. And what I think about it, or if I have some input—it’s worthless. Maybe Sam’s opinion matters, but mine doesn’t. Why wouldn’t you consult me on something like this? Unless you didn’t give a shit about the response?”

Ouch. The accusation stung deeply. Of course he cared. “Oh, cut it out, man. You sound like a little kid. You got out-voted. That’s all.”

“You should’ve asked me first. You could’ve just asked me!” His voice wavered. “But you wouldn’t, right? Up against you two, I’ll always be overruled. I’ll always be second place. An afterthought.”  A storm raged behind his eyes. He spun on one heel and headed for the stairs. “You used to hunt witches like this girl. Now, you’d have her here over me. What the hell happened, Dean? I don’t deserve much, but it’s gotta be more than this.”

With that, he disappeared into the upper levels of the house, unable to bear staying in the same room with him. Dean silently swore at himself. Just because he’d made a decision for the three of them didn’t mean he valued Rosa over their angel. Not even close. It was unfathomable. Absurd. He didn’t even like her. He just thought she’d be useful to the point of being too good to pass up. But he couldn’t convey that to Cas. He couldn’t explain that even if Cas hated her, he could never handle losing either of them. And that he would do anything to swing things in favor of keeping them alive and with him.

“Cas!” he called after him. “C’mon, Cas!”

He stood there dumbfounded, staring at his companion’s escape route. How the hell was he going to fix this one? It seemed clear that Cas had been harboring this pain for awhile, and Dean didn’t have a clue how to fix it. Cas and Sam were his whole world. How could he explain that the angel was just as important to him as his soulmate?

Assuming that was true.

It felt true in his heart, but he couldn’t be sure. Their relationship was entirely manufactured through their experiences with each other and maybe the bond created by him carrying Cas’s wings. Meanwhile, his love for Sam was sanctioned by God, and the psychic connection they shared was basically tangible.

The healer, on the other hand, saw things more clearly. He thought it was obvious that all Cas wanted was to be treated like an equal, and Dean fell short in giving him what he needed. Sam glared at him. “Really, Dean? Are you serious?” he scolded.

“What?”

“Go after him.”

Hesitating, “He needs to cool off.”

Sam sighed. If Dean planned to be useless, he was determined to pick up the slack. Cas’s emotional hardship didn’t come through to his inner senses like a human’s did. It was dull. Subdued. But he still felt it, and he saw it. And he couldn’t deal with watching Cas in pain—about anything. Though their relationship was sometimes arguably the lesser of the three, it was resilient, nevertheless. He loved Cas so much, and he cared about his wellbeing. He didn’t want to see him like this.

And he refused.

Without further argument, Sam abruptly left. He climbed up to the third floor to mend the damage Dean created.

Rosa opened her mouth to comment, but Dean pointed at her threateningly. “Not a damn word. You wanna stay here? You keep your mouth shut about us—the three of us—or I’ll kick your ass to the curb. Don’t tempt me, bitch.”

Her eyebrows rose, and she smirked. “Whoa, calm down. I was just going to ask where I should put my shit.”

With a growl, he pointed toward the ceiling. “Guest bedroom. Upstairs. Second floor.”

“All right.” She smiled in his general direction. “Thanks.”

He left her there. Not out of trust but discomfort. There was very little she could mess with, anyway, and he didn’t really want to be around her or anyone else. Retreating to the basement, which they’d locked up tight after her excursion, Dean aimed to work on one of many projects for the store until the conflict resolved itself or fell into his lap again.

***

Sam knocked on the door to their bedroom as quietly as possible. “Cas?” he inquired. “Cas, are you in there?” He knew by the energy emitted, the emotional strife, that he was. But he asked anyway. “Cas, hey, it’s me. Is it okay if I come in?”

“What do you want?” came a quiet response from behind the white-painted wooden door.

“Cas, I—let’s talk. Okay? Just you and me.”

He sniffed. “What is it?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m not.”

He put his hand up on the frame. “I know. Let me help.”

Cas reluctantly opened the door. Though he tried to compose himself, he looked completely distraught. His face was wet from crying. His chin trembled, and he crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. Sam embraced him, holding him close—trying to convey that he was there for him. Eventually, the healer pulled away and slipped past him into the room. He walked awkwardly over to the bed and sat down. Cas followed, but kept his distance.

“It shouldn’t be you that’s here,” he said after a long silence. “Did he send you?”

“No, I wanted to.”

“Because it physically bothers you that I’m upset.”

Sam shook his head emphatically. That wasn’t entirely inaccurate—it did set off his senses—but it most certainly wasn’t his only motivation for coming to comfort Cas, or even his most prominent one. “It kills me that you’re upset,” he corrected. “And that you have reason to be. You shouldn’t ever have to feel the way you do right now. Ever.” Reaching for his cheek, Sam wiped away a tear with his thumb. “You’re not second to me, Cas.”

“That’s a lie.” The last word caught in his throat.

“No, it isn’t.” He let his hand rest on the side of the angel’s neck, just above his shoulder.  “I love you. And Dean does, too. He’s just an idiot at showing it.”

But Cas wasn’t convinced. “It’s impossible for either of you to consider me—to love me as much as you do each other. It’s not even a question. The fact is just more obvious now.”

“Shut up,” he scolded without thinking. Trying to recover, “By that logic, we shouldn’t be able to love you at all, Cas! But we do. Maybe Dean and I have a few more things in common, more memories together, but you should see the way he looks at you. It’s incredible. Like he’s mesmerized. He’s truly, organically in love with you. And you should know, whether you believe me or not, that I feel as strongly about you as I do him.”

Cas looked away as more tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. “If you had to choose—”

“Well, I couldn’t!” He tried not to shout, but he failed. “How could I? That’s like deciding which arm I wanna cut off. Only worse. And I’ll tell you what my answer would be: I’d pick myself before I could make that kind of decision. I’d rather die than lose either of you.” He took hold of him and pulled him close. Pressing his forehead against Cas’s, “Look, we haven’t been very good to you lately, and I’m so sorry for that, but please know that you are so incredibly important to me. Seriously. I love you. I really, really love you.”

“Sam…”

He kissed Cas slowly, keeping a firm grasp on him. “We’re just different, you know? What you and I have—it’s not the same as what you and Dean have, or what Dean and I have. But the way I see it, each one of these links is worth the same. Sure, there’s gonna be problems now and then, and I hate that there are, but we can work through it, okay? Whatever happens, I know we can get past it. And you will always, always have someone who is here for you.  You will always be loved, Cas. Always.”

“You’re telling me that you honestly value me as much as your own soulmate?”

“Yes!” He embraced him again. “Yeah, Cas. I do. You’re like my best friend.” He smiled. “We just click on so many things. And you’re always there for me. Whenever I need you. I just—you’re amazing. I mean it.”

After a few moments to think it over, Cas gave a slow nod. He leaned against him. His muscles relaxed beneath Sam’s fingers, and he closed his eyes. “You’re sweet. But in the end, it’ll just be you two.”

Sam felt like he could cry just as readily as the angel. Most of the time, he could go without thinking about Cas dying. About losing him. About something that was arguably inevitable. He’d just shove it down deep inside his brain and pretend like it wasn’t a reality. And for the time being, and for as long as he could, he intended to stave off a death sentence for him, to keep him young and healthy forever if possible. “Dude, not if I have any say in the matter.”

That produced a slight smile. He gripped at Sam’s back a little, letting the softness of the shirt’s fabric soothe him. “You think we could handle immortality?”

“Definitely,” he said with confidence. “When I think about being happy, about what I want from life, you’re always a part of it, Cas. It’s the three of us.” Shifting gears, “It’s gonna be great. I don’t even think we’ll get bored, honestly.”

“Eternity is a really long time, Sam.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you understand how much you get me excited.” In spite of the seriousness of their conversation, the extended closeness had a profound effect on Sam’s rather healthy sexual appetite. Before becoming a healer, his sex drive wasn’t exactly low—not even close—but now that his body kept itself in mint condition? So long as he didn’t wear himself out healing, he was easily and frequently turned on. It was a good thing he had two partners, so that he didn’t exhaust anyone.

And he figured Cas could use the extra attention, if he wanted it. Since the angel felt left out, Sam was determined to show him he wasn’t. Dean didn’t always think about the big picture before he acted. Having grown up with him, Sam was more or less used to it. And he knew that Dean’s heart was usually in the right place, even if it didn’t seem like it. But Cas saw it as any reasonable person in his position would: as a slight.

Cas let out a quiet laugh.

That was a good start. Trying not to blush too much, “If you’re up to it, I bet I can make you feel a little better.”

He shook his head. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay.”

“Hey, I’m a healer, right? It’s what I do.”

“You just wanna get laid! I see how it is,” he teased.

“That too. But, more than anything, I also wanna make you happy. ‘Cause you deserve it.” He kissed Cas’s neck softly. “Tell me what you want, and you got it.”

Sam’s instincts were spot-on. If anything could cheer Cas up, it was some one-on-one time in bed with either of the Winchesters. Even with them being the primary cause of his distress. Sam’s words were sincere, and his offer difficult to pass up. “Anything?”

His hands drifted over Cas’s knees. “Yeah.” He wrinkled his nose at him and tried to look convincing.

“Fuck me.”

Sam let out a breath and smiled wide. When it came to their bedroom romps, this was an atypical request, though not unheard of. Cas was just so good at taking control, but he didn’t always, and from what Sam understood, he was even more flexible with Dean. But so was Sam, especially recently, and he was more than happy to do whatever would make the angel feel good.

He kissed him deeply, taking a moment to taste him. Lingering there was a hint of the mango tea Cas loved, that they could only get from a small store a few blocks away. But he drank it whenever he was stressed, and once Dean made a run for it in the middle of a snowstorm so Cas wouldn’t have to go without. It was familiar now, like the smell of him, the shampoo he used and the detergent the three of them shared. As simple and mundane as it all seemed, it was intoxicating, and it felt like home. Sam soaked it in like bathing in the sun. And with a shot of humor, he silently thought that if anyone asked what an angel smelled and tasted like, he could tell them.

Mango tea, generic laundry detergent, and _Head & Shoulders_.

With the palms of both hands on Cas’s upper arms, Sam pushed him slowly down to the bed. He didn’t waste any time on his partner’s khaki shorts, pausing only to run his fingers up the insides of Cas’s thighs before zipping the pants open and pulling them off. Before he could even get a hold of Cas’s t-shirt, the angel did it for him, peeling it off and tossing it to the floor.

Sam had to remind himself to breathe. He felt overdressed in that moment and hurried to join him in stripping down to his boxers. Sliding between Cas’s knees, he brought his lips to the angel’s stomach. He traced a winding path there, up and down, near his navel.

When he eventually looked up, he saw Cas staring back at him. His eyes and mouth were still red from crying, but there was peace in his expression. A hint of a smile. Calm patience. He was more than capable of losing himself in passion, just as any human could, but now and then he kept it at bay. He’d stay cool and collected for awhile, absorbing the sensations on some kind of deeper level. It was one of the few things that signaled to the others that he wasn’t what he looked like. He wasn’t human.

But none of them really were anymore, were they? Sam felt less and less like one every day. Unless he wore himself out, he didn’t need to sleep as much. And when he did, he couldn’t dream. He couldn’t age if he wanted to, and he never got sick. He sensed other people’s pain. Sometimes he fixed it without even thinking.

Though Dean was more reserved with his power, he could be halfway across the world in a thought. Or, he could lazily grab a beer from their fridge without taking the stairs.

The years gave Sam time to get used to it.

He folded his arms across Cas’s abdomen and rested his chin on top. Staring at him, “Man, you’re gonna have to make some kind of noise or something,” he insisted playfully, “or I won’t know if you like what I’m doing or not.”

His hand touched Sam’s arm lightly. “Sorry, uh, keep going. Please.”

Damnit.

That wasn’t the response Sam expected. Typically, he would just snap out of it and start moaning or something. By straying from the norm, Cas inadvertently signaled that something was wrong.

As much as Sam wanted to make Cas feel better through physical contact, the unresolved conflict with Dean distracted him. It kept him upset. Disconnected. He was still hurting and worried. Though sex might do him some good, a level-headed talk with Dean would work wonders.

Sam sat up. “I think we should reschedule this.”

“What?”

“Until after you and my brother are on the mend.”

Cas reached for him and touched the top of his head. “Sam… No. What we have—it has to be separate from him. If Dean and I are having an issue—”

The healer shook his head. “When I said I wanted you to be happy, I meant it.” He got up carefully and started slowly getting dressed. “I’m gonna talk some sense into him, okay? And try and figure out what his deal is. There’s no reason this should be happening, and I hate seeing it.” He leaned over and kissed him. “And then we can get back to us, huh? Just you and me.”

Rolling onto his side, Cas studied the healer for a long time. Maybe he really did care for him as much as he did Dean. Why else would he pass up free sex to go argue with his soulmate on the angel’s behalf? And he was so steadfast about it. The look on his face said it all: compassion and determination to solve what he saw as a tragic problem. Not to help Dean, but Cas. Because he loved him.

“You should come back even if he doesn’t listen, though,” he insisted, seizing him by his side and pulling him closer to the bed. As much as he longed for things to be right with Dean again, in that moment, he really just wanted to spend a lot of close time with Sam. Sexual or otherwise. The healer was so open and caring toward him. If felt good.

And Cas needed that.

“You got it,” he smiled, donning a fresh white cotton t-shirt. It was tight on him, and Cas couldn’t help but notice. After a long glance at his mostly uncovered companion, Sam eventually dragged himself away.


	8. Distant Early Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

He stalked in bare feet all the way down to the basement. There, he found Dean tinkering with an old gun. A Luger maybe. His expression was fixed in concentration, but his hands moved wildly. The barrel extension wouldn’t fit properly with the frame, and it clearly frustrated him. Sam leaned against a wooden support beam and waited for his brother to acknowledge him.

Dean gave up and let the items drop from his hands. “What is it?” He didn’t turn to look at him—nor did he have to. Cas always knocked, and he knew Sam’s footsteps like they were his own.

“Dude, what the hell’s going on with you?”

He sighed. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, right. Because you _always_ treat Cas like shit and make sure he feels terrible. Nothing weird about that.”

“I left him out on one decision. It really wasn’t that big of a deal.”

It was a weak excuse, and Sam was not at all convinced. “You purposefully left him out, and then when he got upset, you called him a child, Dean! Which is kinda funny considering you’ve been treating him like one. And before that, what the hell was that B.S. about what he used to do for a living? I mean, come on. We never would’ve even met Cas if he hadn’t been doing that. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it when you were paying him! And now he wants to help people, and suddenly you have an issue? It just doesn’t make any sense to me. I don’t get it. Did something happen, and you’re just not telling me?”

“No.” He blinked as what Sam said started to sink in. Had he really said all that? No wonder Cas was freaking out. “No, nothing’s happened. I’d tell you, dude. We both would.”

“Then, what? What’s going on? Dean, Cas is a mess. You know that, right?” He walked over and hopped up on Dean’s worktable. It made it much more difficult for his soulmate to avoid eye contact. The ledge was high enough that his legs dangled off the floor.

“I dunno.”

Locking his legs together at the ankles, Sam adjusted his position slightly. “How can you not know?”

“Sam, I just—I don’t know, okay?” But he knew that answer wasn’t going to be sufficient. Not with Cas on the line.

“You do, though. There’s gotta be some reason why you’re acting this way. So, just tell me. Or tell him. I don’t care. But you have to fix this. Cas is trying to be his own person, and he’s trying to fit in with us at the same time, and he deserves nothing less than our support, Dean! He needs it.” Sam smoothed back his own hair and set his glance on a point somewhere behind his soulmate. “I mean, you _do_ want him to be happy, right?”

“God damnit. Of course, I do.”

“Then what the fuck is going on that you would sacrifice that? You think he’s happy right now? ‘Cause he’s not. He’s miserable. You’re making him completely miserable.”

Dean didn’t reply right away. He had to fight through a swell of thoughts that gathered in the front of his skull and threatened to choke off any chance at a reasonable response. At once, he knew that Sam was right, that he had been upsetting their angel.

And not only that, but he’d basically been doing it on purpose. Though, it couldn’t be because he wanted their companion to hate him or even be sad.

Right?

Unless, in a way, he did. “He relies too much on us, and us on him.”

Confused, Sam’s immediate reaction was anger. “What? Rely on—well, yeah, maybe. All three of us rely on each other. For everything. We’re pretty much attached at the hip. So what? That’s no excuse to be a dick to him.”

“We have to prepare,” he tried to explain. “When it comes down to it, it’s just gonna be us, Sammy. Whether it’s Cas who’s gotta live on his own or us going on without him, it doesn’t matter. We have to learn how to do it now—how to be apart and function on our own—so it doesn’t kill us when it actually happens. Hell, so there’s some chance of existing afterwards. We have to admit that the only sure thing is you and me. And he needs to learn how to protect and take care of himself, because he won’t be able to get it from us forever. It hurts now, yeah, but I gotta do it.”

A sharp pain formed at the nape of Sam’s neck, the beginning of a tension headache. He healed it, but silently noted that the conversation was making him anxious enough to cause it. “Cas doesn’t _want_ to live without us.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a chance he might have to.”

“Or he won’t.” Sam made no attempt to hide the sharpness in that. “Leave him alone in a house full of weapons, and you honestly think he’ll hold down a real job and just press on? Are you serious? Even if you tried to make him promise, which would be a hell of a lot more effective than alienating him, I don’t think he could do it. And not because he isn’t strong. He is. In ways that are different from us, but he’s so incredibly strong and resilient. But because I know I couldn’t either. I wouldn’t even want to try.”

He scoffed. “You don’t have a choice. Neither of us do. Here or upstairs, he’s gone, and we’re not.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” If Dean really thought Cas should learn how to be on his own, why wouldn’t he want Cas to pursue his career? Why wouldn’t he support him in that?

Collecting his thoughts, Sam eventually continued on. “I think you’re just trying to protect yourself. If Cas can’t stand to be around you—if you can convince yourself that he no longer loves you—then you can pretend that if and when we lose him, it was something he wanted. And then maybe you won’t miss him as much.” He sniffed, and sawdust in the air filled his nose, nearly causing a sneeze. “But you will. And I will. And it’ll be the absolute worst thing I can imagine. And if I have any say, I’m gonna put it off as long as fucking possible so maybe we can find something to fix it, to save him. But even if we can’t, I don’t think pushing him away will help. All it’s gonna do is make him hurt and take away the time we get to have with him. You don’t really want that, Dean. I know you don’t.”

Dean’s hand found the side of Sam’s pants leg and latched on near his knee. Gulping, he looked as though he kept tears at bay through sheer willpower and embarrassment alone. “I can’t take losing him, Sammy. I can’t. It’ll rip me to shreds, and there won’t be anything left.” His face turned toward the floor, and with tears already dropping into the dust, his shoulders began to shake.

Sam touched his forearm reassuringly. “Then, we won’t. We’ll find a way to save him. I don’t know how yet. Maybe it’s living forever. Or maybe we can bribe another angel or something. I dunno. But we’ll find some way to keep him with us.” He put his leg up on the bottom rung of Dean’s stool. The older Winchester let his hands drop loosely onto his brother’s thigh, and, soon after, Sam gripped them both with his own. “But in the meantime, you gotta talk to Cas, and stop trying to push him away. We’re stronger and safer together. And he needs you. He needs to know you really care about him and support him.”

“Yeah,” he said just loud enough to hear.

Of course Sam was right. He had to fix things with Cas. The idea of hurting him didn’t sit right with Dean at all, even if the goal was to help them both in the long run. It probably wouldn’t work, and then he would have wasted their time together.

As for finding a solution, however, he was pessimistic. Bobby couldn’t discover anything, and in Sam’s limited searching, they’d come up empty. And Cas insisted that Gabriel and his cronies wouldn’t even let him get close to Heaven when he was a full angel. What hope could there be now? When the ruler of Heaven hates your boyfriend’s guts, there’s not a whole lot you can do to get him past the pearly gates.

“I mean it, Dean. Apologize to him.”

He nodded in an almost child-like manner—emphatic and exaggerated. “Dude, yes. I will. I know. I’ve been acting like an ass. I’ll fix it.”

Dean looked so fearful, like a scared kid given a responsibility he couldn’t handle. The weight of possibly losing their angel had been eating at him for a long time. Months, if not years. It broke Sam’s heart to witness.

With two fingers applied to Dean’s chin, Sam lifted his head and bent down to meet him for a kiss. “Look, Dean, you and Cas—you’re my family. You both are everything I care about. I know you want to protect us—and trust me, you do that—but believe me when I say that I’m not gonna let any of us get hurt, either. I can keep you, me, and Cas safe. I already do. I’ve got it. You don’t have to worry so much, you know?”

Dean moved back and out of Sam’s grasp. He rubbed at his eyes. “Then what am I good for?”

Apart from everything?

“Everything!” He hopped off of the desk, descending on him. Flinging his arms around Dean’s neck, he kissed him again. Smiling, Sam made every attempt to convey his soulmate’s worth. “Dean, you’ve taken care of me my entire life. And Cas, he gave me a way to do it, too. To return the favor. And I’m so happy I can. You just have to let me. You have to trust me, trust that I can help where you can’t. There’s nothing I want more than to keep the three of us together. I mean that. You don’t have to do it alone. And, even if that was the plan, I’m not gonna let you.”

He stared at Sam with glassy eyes, too overcome by the speech to make any attempts to hide it. “You don’t owe me anything, Sammy.”

“Bull. I owe you everything, dude. Which is another reason why I want to see you and Cas on the mend. It’s hurting him, but you need it almost as much. You two—you’re just not okay without each other. And I can’t fully have either one of you if it’s not working out! So, will you go fix it already? Go talk to him. And then we can get back to being awesome again.”

That thankfully produced a grin. “Hey, we’re still awesome.”

“More awesome!” He kissed him under his jaw. “And with everybody happy.” With the other love of their lives not sitting partially broken upstairs.

“Right.” He ran his fingers over Sam’s chest and slid off of his seat. Resolved, he backed toward the stairs. But he stopped short. “You’d really off yourself if we lost Cas?” He knew the two were close, especially since he started being a jerk to their angel, but _that_ close?

Sam looked directly at him, his eyes solemn. “I dunno, maybe. But if I lost both of you? Honestly? I’d probably try.” He wasn’t sure he could succeed or even if death was possible for him. But he didn’t want to live in a world where Cas was gone, and certainly not one without Dean, too. If Cas felt like he felt, he wouldn’t want to go on without the humans. He wouldn’t be capable of it.

“Huh,” was all Dean replied. He climbed up to the ground floor and out of sight.

The healer sat down at the workstation and stared at the offending gun part that had caused so much frustration. It looked like perhaps the barrel extension had gotten warped or bent over time. If it was shaved down a little, It would probably fit, he thought. Feeling antisocial and wanting to give his companions time to themselves, he picked up an old metal file and got to work.

***

The hinges creaked and wood scraped against wood as the widow opened. It was warmer outside than in the three rooms they’d assigned him as living quarters. Rays of sunlight touched his face. It comforted him a little. Looking down, an ornate garden hid any view beyond the property, and it gave no clue as to where they’d taken him.

But it also meant that he could get down from the second floor and a considerable distance from the building without detection. At least he had that going for him.

It was the middle of his second day there. Populated entirely by demons and himself, the mansion seemed to be a sort of work center where groups of the creatures made plans and collaborated. As far as Cas could tell, three of them were directly responsible for watching him, though all were clearly suspicious of his presence. One, who inhabited the body of a girl who couldn’t be more than fifteen, brought him breakfast. “Crowley says you have to eat, so I’m supposed to feed you,” she’d said begrudgingly. When he looked at the offering of eggs, roasted potatoes, and cured meats with skepticism, “Don’t worry. We didn’t do anything to it. He’d have our hides.”

Having gone without lunch or dinner the day before, he was famished. And the food looked and smelled incredible. “Do you have any tea?” he’d asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the food.

She rolled her eyes, but nodded. “He said you’d want that.” She pulled a few packets from her pocket and set them on the tray. One was Earl Grey and another oolong. “There’s an electric kettle in the next room. Sugar, too.”

“Thanks.”

She stood there for a few moments, sizing him up with disgust. The demon made no attempts to hide the unnatural black eyes that betrayed a possession. Cas guessed that she had never seen a real angel before—though technically she still hadn’t—and she was probably wondering why the King of Hell would put so much time and energy into this one.

He didn’t shy away from her scrutiny. Better she and the others think he was coming to accept his situation. Rather than trying to find any possible way out.

When she left, he dug in. Most of the food was still hot, though the potatoes were on the colder side, and also over-spiced. Still, he didn’t move or attempt making tea until most of the plate was cleared. It was delicious. And surprising. He hadn’t thought Crowley would go to such lengths to ensure he was cared for. It made sense, since he was essentially trying to woo Cas, but the idea that a demon would go so far as to anticipate and provide tea? And how did he even know that? Had he been watching the angel in secret? For how long?

The thought sent a shiver through him.

After breakfast, he’d emerged from the rooms and taken a careful walk through the premises, both out of curiosity and in the hope of spotting a good way to escape. Crowley had said he had free range of the estate, so he intended to make the most of it. The place was gigantic. Easily the size of four or five reasonable family homes. And it housed dozens of demons at any given time. Different types. A few red-eyed ones mixing freely with black, and perhaps one or two whose eyes fogged over white from time to time.

They milled around, drinking and smoking and meeting in hushed circles over blueprints and plans that they didn’t let him see. And they all stared at him. Like he was something they would attack and kill if they were allowed, and, for some, like a mythical creature who had to be seen to be believed.

Well, he was. As much as he longed to be human, and envied them, he couldn’t ignore what he really was: a soulless—though not immoral—creature able to walk the earth only because he’d been punished and then rebelled against everything he once knew.

He kept his head raised as he drifted from room to room. When possible, he acted like he didn’t see the demons or care that they shared the space with him. He could only assume that they’d been ordered to leave him alone, but he didn’t want to tempt their allegiances. And if they thought he was capable of more than just basic human functions, then he wanted them to think that. He acted completely unfazed, pretending that something other than the gang of demons kept him there. And acting like he could easily hurt them if he wanted to.

The manor was kept in decent enough shape. The furniture looked antique, but the upholstery was barely worn. Each room had intricate wall papering with matching curtains on tall windows. No expense had been spared on the class and upkeep of the place, though Cas had no idea if the demons or the locale’s previous owners had put in the legwork.

It all seemed oddly serene. In stark contrast to the violent and naturally hate-filled occupants, the mansion was beautiful, orderly, and quiet. It was the sort of place Cas might even enjoy visiting under other circumstances, and he thought that Sam would definitely like it.

He stood near an entrance to a small, overgrown greenhouse and silently wondered if his captors would mind if he went inside. And more importantly, it looked thick enough that if he could get in undetected he might be able to hide there or slip out of the building that way. But as soon as he thought it, the demon who’d brought him his meal appeared nearby and cleared her throat.

“The door on the far end is chained shut,” she informed him, “and all the windows are too small for you. I wouldn’t attempt it.”

“It’s a shame you don’t care for these properly,” he motioned toward the plants inside. Their house in Philly didn’t allow for him to keep much of a garden, so what he said was slightly accurate. Though this conversation was, of course, a cover. “Someone did, once. I don’t know why you would want to waste them.”

She laughed.

“This is a nice place you have here.” He hoped that the subject matter would eventually bore her enough to leave him to his own devices.

“Damn right it is. It’s the nicest house Crowley keeps. And he doesn’t skimp on these things.”

It almost sounded like she was bragging. But perhaps it was more or less warranted. If this was the best meeting location used by the big boss, then maybe the demons here were his closest colleagues. “I don’t doubt it.”

“He must really have a thing for you, angel,” she continued, “bringing you here.”

“Well, at least he has good taste.” He smiled.

She snorted. When he looked over at her, she was already leaving.


	9. The Zoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

It was a few hours before he began seriously contemplating escape. The time of day wouldn’t matter. The demons could easily see in the dark, so there was little chance that a midnight attempt would help. Better to do it when _he_ could see where he was going and, more importantly, while he was alert and awake enough for what could be an arduous trip back.

He waited until after lunch arrived—a turkey sandwich with spicy mustard that was even better than breakfast—before assessing the way down from his bedroom window.

The route didn’t look nearly as difficult as he’d originally thought. Plenty of plant life, which he could hold onto, clung to the building, and after a few feet, there was a gazebo he could jump down on. After that, the garden was deserted. Tall hedges would conceal him from any occupants in the house, and then maybe beyond that he could get onto a road or into a forest or something. He didn’t know what lay beyond the garden—he doubted by the expansive property that there would be a city—but if he could just get to a town…

He pulled out his phone and checked it again. No bars. Wherever they were, his phone wasn’t working. The demons didn’t bother to take the device from him. But it wasn’t completely useless. He kept detailed notes about the building and his captors, on the off-chance that he might get reception. And he took pictures. If it was safe, he resolved to get a good one of the building to send to hunters.

Taking a deep breath, Cas sat down on the windowsill and swung his legs outside. He rolled onto his stomach, clutching at the wooden frame on the inside and letting his legs fall. He felt around until the tip of one of his sneakers hooked into something sturdy. It was a cross-hatched structure designed to help grape vines grow up the wall. He put some weight on it, and it held. The other foot found a similar landing. Praying that it would support him, he slowly slid down off the sill, the polished wood digging into his abdomen.

The structure beneath him creaked and moaned, but didn’t break.

Quickly—as now it would be obvious what he was doing—he hurried down until the little gazebo’s roof was within reach. With one leg outstretched, Cas leaned over, shifted his weight, and made a small jump. He landed on all fours like a squirrel. Once there, he simply leapt off and ended up in a crouching position amongst the flowers and tall grass.

Easy.

He looked around, but, finding no one, promptly sprinted away from the mansion. He kept his head down and darted from side to side to conceal his path. A stone walkway disappeared after a short time and gave way to trees and grass and large water-starved bushes. A few moments later, and he was clear of the garden entirely.

His heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t a road or a forest. It was water. Water that lapped against a grassy shoreline. But even in the warm afternoon, it was covered in a haze that prevented seeing very far into the distance. At the edge of the property was a large lake or perhaps even a tributary to the ocean. It smelled a bit like salt, though not strongly. Cas was surprised he hadn’t noticed the scent earlier.

“No,” he said to himself. Could this be what Crowley meant by him not being able to get far? Not the demons, but the geography? If this was an island—

First thing’s first. He could follow the shoreline to get away. Even if it was an island, there was probably still a town or harbor of some kind. Maybe he could steal a boat. Or call for help. And maybe it was just a peninsula or inlet. No reason to jump to conclusions.

He stuffed his hands into his front pockets and started walking swiftly to the right. From a distance, he would simply appear like someone who’d gone on a walk and now wished to hurry back. Running would raise alarm. And the mist itself could help hide his identity.

Cas kept on the lookout for anything that resembled a boat or raft. It’d be a risk to take one regardless, but the farther he could get away from Crowley’s demon hideout, the better.

Eventually, the grassy clearing delivered him to a small cobblestone street with a wall and shrubs on one side and the water on the other. The haze grew into fog, however, and he couldn’t help but find it eerie and foreboding. His shoes sounded too loud. He worried they might give him away. If there weren’t so many loose pebbles, he might have taken them off to avoid detection. He straightened his back as the hairs on his neck stood on end. Crossing his arms over his stomach, Cas tried to remind himself that anything was better than a house full of demons.

As he walked, the air temperature dropped. But it only seemed to get saltier, and he couldn’t help but notice the path seemed to curve back, like a large, uneven circle. And he was never far from the dwelling, which rose up from the fog in the distance. Frustrated, he left the path and went down to the water, half-looking and half-feeling for anything afloat that he could climb onto and ride to freedom.

The sound of laughter nearby stopped him cold. At first, he tried to stay low. Perhaps in the cover of the mist, he wouldn’t be noticed. But they moved closer and closer, and by the sound, they were laughing _at_ him. Fear arched through Cas like lightning. Slowly, he stood up and looked in their direction. There was no point in running. He didn’t have anywhere to go.

Four demons. And none of them were part of his assigned welcoming party. They were big, too, and he was alone.

“I had to see the water,” was the first thing he came up with. “I could smell it from the house. It’s wonderful.”

“I think this little bastard was trying to escape,” said one to his left, with an accent similar to Crowley’s.

The others laughed. “What’s he gonna do? Swim for it?” More laughter as they approached and surrounded him.

“Where would I go?” he returned. “Crowley would just find me again.”

One of them struck him in the face before he even had a chance to react to the movement. It more than stung. Though he couldn’t see it, Cas had a sneaking suspicion the blow had broken the skin on his cheekbone, and it was beginning to bleed. He dodged a second attempt, but in doing so he connected with the demon’s knee. It hit his stomach and knocked the wind out of him. He wanted nothing more than to get away from them, to flee back to the house where surely the more loyal demons would protect him, but he fell. And before he could try and get up again, all four moved in.

They kicked him painfully in the side and abdomen until he could no longer support himself on his hands and knees. He rolled into a fetal position and tried to protect his face. But one of their shoes got through anyway, and it slammed into his mouth. His lip felt like it was on fire. And it bled—profusely—through his fingers and into the grass. He was afraid to check, but eventually, he forced himself to feel around with his tongue to see if any teeth had been knocked loose. To his relief, they were all still in place for the time being.

When they paused to watch him suffer, he tried to look up at them, but only one eye would open. Coughing, “I don’t think Crowley would like it if you killed me.”

“Fuck Crowley!” the smallest one barked, kicking him dead-center in the chest.

He groaned. But he refused to cry out or give them much else. He didn’t want these monsters to have the satisfaction of it. And he could control his reaction enough—pull away from his own body and hide deeper—in an attempt to endure the pain. He was a soldier once, he told himself. A soldier. If he was going to die here, he would die without giving them anything.

The world around him was starting to spin. He tried to sit up but found he couldn’t. Everything hurt. He knew without looking that bruises were forming. Swelling. Bleeding. He had no idea what damage had already been inflicted on his mortal body, and he had no reason to believe the demons would be stopping any time soon.

But as soon as he thought it, a voice he recognized roared from somewhere past the wall. Not Crowley, but the girl. The cook. Her voice carried unnaturally far, but all at once she closed the distance and stepped across Cas. She halted there, taking a protective stance over him.

“Little whore, don’t you have dishes to wash or something?” one of the attackers taunted. “Fuck off.”

An animal-like sound rumbled from deep in her chest. An inhuman growl that Cas had never heard from a demon before. His assailants were equally surprised. Despite her stature, they backed away immediately.

“What the hell are you?” one managed to utter as two of the four took off toward the house.

“I serve the same master as you should be—but I’m stronger. And I’m older. And actually loyal. Decide how you plan to spend the last minutes of your life. Crowley is returning.”

The two remaining demons fled, with one disappearing in the fog in favor of some other destination, likely considering any return to the house a death sentence. She bent down and lifted Cas’s head off of the grass. There was that look again. Studying. It almost seemed like she was trying to figure him out or discern some greater truth from his existence. Her hands traced the edges of his wounds, which interested her nearly as much.

“What’s your name?” he asked with some slurring. He felt woozy. Drunk. Broken. What he wouldn’t give for the coolness of a healing session from Sam…

She pulled him up off the ground and balanced him on her shoulder. “I don’t have one.”

He exhaled. Many demons would not reveal their real names for fear of their earthly remains being found and used for incantations or other things that could hurt them. “What do you call yourself?”

Dragging Cas to his feet, she started toward the house with hardly any help from him. “I don’t.”

“Crowley doesn’t,” he could feel himself starting to black out, “he, uh, he doesn’t—”

“All he says is ‘come,’ and then I do.”

***

Dean waited outside their bedroom as the angel got dressed. Cas’d honestly thought Sam would be unsuccessful in making any headway, so when the older brother arrived at the door, Cas was still mostly nude. Part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to endure the conversation now. He really just wanted Sam to come back and be with him for awhile. It felt so good to be comforted by him. He wanted more. Maybe they could even kick Dean onto the couch for the night.

But at the same time, if Dean wanted to provide an explanation or perhaps even apologize, Cas was willing to hear him out. After all, he loved him.

He appeared with his jeans still unbuttoned and a sleeveless shirt bunched up near the bottom of his ribcage. He only opened the door enough to lean on.

Dean worked to stay focused. Dressed like that, Cas _had_ to know what it would do to him. But maybe that was the point. With the way that he’d been acting and treating their angel, he deserved to be uncomfortable. There were worse punishments. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His eyes were incredibly round as he looked at him, and worse yet, they were devastatingly sad.

He took a small step forward, but made certain to give Cas some room. “I’ve been, uh—you deserve a lot better than how I’ve been treating you.” When he gave a slow nod, Dean took another step. “I’m an ass.”

“What did I do to, umm, set this off? Is it school?”

Dean’s heart hurt a little. Why did he have to assume that? Did he think so little of himself? “No. No, dude. Nothing. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Dean couldn’t hold off any longer. He cleared the space between them, reached out, and touched him at the shoulder. “Look, Cas, nothing about this is your fault, okay? I—it’s just not your fault.”

“Then, what is it? You can talk to me, Dean.” Resting his head against the edge of the door, Cas looked exhausted. Emotionally and mentally drained.

He didn’t think he could talk at all. With Cas or anyone else. If he wasn’t already shaking, he felt like it could start at any moment. He opened his mouth to speak, and it moved, but nothing came out at first. Struggling, “I, uh—I’ve been—God damnit. It’s really stupid, but—I’ve been pushing you away because I’m—I’m horrified I’m gonna lose you.”

Cas felt a sob form at the base of his lungs and rush all the way up his throat. When it got to his mouth, he exhaled quickly before clenching his jaw shut.

“It scares the crap out of me, man,” Dean continued, not quite looking at him. “The only thing worse than you dying is the idea that I’ll have to do eternity knowin’ you’re dead. I can’t handle it, Cas. I can’t. I’ll go crazy. I’ll fucking lose it. And the thought that this might happen keeps me up at night. It gives me nightmares. And I can’t make it okay or stop fucking obsessing over it. I can’t be happy. I see you, and I just think about losing you. It’s killing me.” He gripped at Cas’s shirt until his knuckles were white.

Fuck. It had to be that, didn’t it? Why he hadn’t guessed already was a mystery. The problem hung over the three of them like a dark cloud. It was a constant threat. No matter where they went or what they did, it was and would always be in the back of their minds.

Cas had no solution, no method or outlet to fix it. He functioned entirely on the premise that he should live in the moment and appreciate the time he got to spend with them.

But for the Winchesters, they hardly had that luxury. When Cas died, he’d probably just be gone. Fizzle out like energy without a power source. He wouldn’t have to mourn losing them. But the two would have eternity to think about it. “Sam will help you,” Cas said in a subdued tone. Though he usually tried to avoid dwelling on the subject, he imagined the duo would find solace in the arms of one another. The thought comforted him slightly, knowing that at least his companions would still get to have someone when he was gone. He only hoped they wouldn’t forget him.

“What? He’ll be just as bad!” Dean didn’t share any of the angel’s apparent confidence about the situation. “Don’t you get it? Cas, we can’t handle not having you around. We need you. I need you, man.”

“I know. Dean, I-I know. But there’s nothing I can do about it. We looked for ways out, but there’s nothing. I hate it, and I’d change it if I could, but there’s no way other than Sam’s healing. What do you want me to do? I don’t want to see you upset and angry, but this is just something you’re going to have to accept.”

“No, I can’t. That’s just not something I can do. Cas—how could I?”

“You don’t get a choice.” But as much as he wanted to maintain this position, so that maybe he could give his companion some peace of mind, seeing Dean’s heart break before his eyes was too much to bear. “Listen, I know this is terrible, and you’re hurting. And I know it’s at least partially my fault. I pissed off Gabriel. I ruined it. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have been allowed back anyway, but still. That destroyed any chance. I’m sorry, Dean. I really am. I would kill to stay with you and Sam forever if I could.”

Dean was inconsolable. He held himself together for a response entirely through willpower. “He thinks there might still be some way.”

Smiling subtly, “The world could be ending right in front of him, and Sam would still have hope. It always amazes me—how much he can take and still think like that.”

The man nodded, but acknowledging this truth about his soulmate only made things worse. Sam was prone to optimism. Or, at least, he often kept a positive outlook, which he readily conveyed to others. And he did it for most things. The problem at hand was nothing special. He would have hope because it’s just what he did—and not because there was any specific reason to have it.

“Well, you’re in luck. You probably won’t have to see the day he loses that.”

Without thinking, “But you will?”

The angel instantly regretted posing the question. It was obvious what Dean meant. Had he just taken a moment to ponder it, he wouldn’t have needed any clarification. If and when Cas died, it could break Sam, the same or close to how it would with Dean. He might lose that unwavering spirit that made him so, for lack of a more profound term, beautiful.

Dean’s face became a mask—but he couldn’t hide the torrent of pain just beneath the surface. He was terrible at keeping things from Cas or Sam to begin with, but as he felt now—completely destroyed and dejected—it wouldn’t matter who was nearby. And he thought he was pretty good at keeping emotional stuff under wraps and in control. Without really intending on it, he tightened his grip on Cas’s shirt until the joints in his fingers began to ache.

Cas could cry just from witnessing it all. He let go of the door and hugged him. Dean made no protest. He held onto the angel as firmly as he could without hurting him, as though his life depended on it. And he pressed his lips and nose into his collarbone. Hot tears fell and soaked into Cas’s shirt.

“Shh,” the angel whispered into his ear. He knew Dean wouldn’t want him to spend a whole lot of time addressing the fact that he was noticeably upset. But he couldn’t help but try to comfort him, at least a small amount.

After a few moments, he decided maybe changing the subject would help. Their line of discussion wasn’t going to get them anywhere. It only seemed to be hurting Dean, which was the last thing he wanted. “He gets it from you, you know. The way you look out for him. How you protect him, always have and always will.”

A response screamed in Dean’s head that it didn’t matter because he still couldn’t protect Cas, but though he tried, he couldn’t make himself say it.

“How could he ever lose hope with you around?” he kept going. “For all Sam keeps us from languishing in pessimism, you’re the reason he has that. Because you’ve always been there, watching over him.” He gave a single light laugh. “Kinda like an angel, actually.”

He had too many conflicting feelings raging through every ounce of him for the final compliment to register. Instead, anger and hurt prevailed. “So, what then? You think I should just grow a pair and pretend everything’s okay so he can keep being hopeful? Even when you die?! There’s no way I can do that. Sorry.”

“No!” He held him close. “God, no. I’m saying that if you can give it to him, we can have it, too. We can keep looking. We can have hope. Dean, I know you’re hurting, and I know this is horrible. And I get that you’re afraid. I am, too. I-I don’t ever want to lose you or Sam, either, and I don’t wanna die. But I’m not going anywhere any time soon. With the healing, there’s no reason I have to. Maybe it’s temporary, but we could still have lifetimes together. Ages. And we can try to enjoy it while we have it. And maybe we’ll find some creative way to stay with each other for good.”

He sniffed. Though living day to day might be possible, and he’d done it before meeting the angel, Dean highly doubted they’d ever find a permanent solution. Everyone they’d turned to, every book they poured over, had delivered not even a hint at an answer. You piss off the head honcho of Heaven, you don’t get in. Simple as that. And there didn’t seem to be much the Winchesters could do to prevent their own entry. Or, at least, nothing that they could accept doing. And damnation wasn’t exactly a better alternative.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed after a lengthy silence. What the hell were they going to do? Hope alone wouldn’t save their angel. And he had no idea what could.


	10. Runnin’ Down a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

She sat in the corner of the main room. Her gaze bounced over the sizable group of hunters, who paid her little attention. They had no idea they shared the space with a powerful witch, and she wasn’t planning on telling them.

Rosa, at her core, despised hunters. They shot first and asked questions never. They didn’t care if the creature or person they were tracking was a child or an innocent. So long as it wasn’t like them, they’d kill it. Being in the same room with them irked her, to say the least. But she wanted to watch it happen, to watch Sam work. What he was doing, it fascinated her.

Mostly, she focused on the healer and the little indicators of the tasks at hand. He kept calm and smiled often. Talked to them. Tried to keep their minds focused on something else.

Could he be afraid they might turn on him? After all, he wasn’t a normal human, either.

One hand for most cases. Two if it was very serious or difficult. He used real medical terminology when appropriate. Made what certainly seemed like real medical diagnoses. But he didn’t wear scrubs or anything like a doctor might. He sat on his desk or a stool, handled his “patients” one at a time, and didn’t ask for payment until they were healed.

At first, Rosa thought that was idiotic, but as she watched, Sam never had any trouble getting their money. In fact, they sometimes overpaid him. And anyway, if there was an issue, she guessed that Sam and his lovers might use their giant armory to persuade customers to pay up.

Supposedly, the energy came from an extra source implanted in Sam by the angel—the specifics of which were purposefully kept from her—and then he directed some of the power into a person, where it healed them. It wasn’t like heat or even really like light, though Castiel described it like both. She’d felt the energy when Sam had healed her, and it was cold. Like standing in front of an open freezer. Sam said that some people couldn’t feel it happening, especially for small jobs, but Rosa didn’t have any problem. Even partially conscious and damaged, she not only felt it, but experienced exactly where the power went.

The others stayed out of sight. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe to make the hunters feel better? Or to conceal their relationship with the healer? There wasn’t much point in dwelling on it, but she couldn’t help but notice. They only entered the room if Sam needed something or to leave the house, which with the threat of demon attack, they rarely even considered.

Rosa caught a glare from the angel as he went upstairs. It wasn’t a secret to any of them that he despised her. He made no attempt to hide it, and of the three, he clearly disliked her the most. He didn’t want her there. Didn’t want anything to do with her. And in the two weeks she’d been crashing in their guest room, he uttered barely a word to her.

Which made picking his brain for information on angels frustratingly difficult. A shame, since learning about them and their abilities was the main reason she was there.

For the most part, she tried to play nice. Dean, who for all intents and purposes was the head of the household, insisted. If she wasn’t on her best behavior, she’d get kicked out. And, anyway, if the angel was ever going to speak to her, she’d have to tolerate the types of people she was surrounded with and act as though she wanted to help them.

But Cas wasn’t the only one who distrusted the witch. All three did. Dean kept a wary eye on her. He even began using his wings to get around the house more—in an attempt to hide his location. It was designed to keep her on her toes, keep her honest. And it meant that he could make it to his workroom and back to bed without having to risk interacting with her along the way.

Though it did also have a humorous result: he scared the crap out of her in the kitchen late one night last week. He’d thought she’d be sleeping, and he wanted a post-romp beer. But she was raiding the fridge, and he landed only about two feet away from her. She jumped into the air like a cat, and ended up half-wrapped around the dining room table.

He laughed for a really long time afterwards.

Sam had his suspicions, too. He didn’t think the academic angle was a good enough reason for her to want to live with them, and generally, he didn’t like having a new person invading their life. But he neither avoided her nor gave her the silent treatment. He didn’t see the point. And he thought it better to understand her. Maybe there was something redeemable there, behind the stubbornness and self-centered, almost Machiavellian drive. Even if there wasn’t, he could find out if there were any other motives and generally watch her if she was in the same room as him.

Today was no different. It was Rosa’s longest session with him and the hunters so far, but she said nothing, so it didn’t do much to disrupt his work. His fifteenth patient did take notice, however. “Hey, what’s with the girl?” he asked as Sam reached for the man’s neck to correct a painful displaced vertebrae. It didn’t come as a surprise that people who were constantly on edge might notice something so obviously amiss as a random woman studying them from the edge of the room.

He smiled sweetly, finishing up the heal. “Intern.”

His patient raised an eyebrow. “I thought you folks kinda kept to yourselves.”

That was a loaded statement if he’d ever heard one. Rumors spread like wildfire through this city. By now, the hunter could know any number of things about the trio that they would prefer to keep private. Their multi-person relationship. Their extra powers. Dean and Sam’s biological connection, real names, and history. Hell, the sole thing Sam was sure they’d managed to keep a secret was that Cas was an angel. And they had only accomplished that by merit of him doing literally nothing angelic. He was more human in some ways than Sam and his brother, and he hid himself well.

Sam tried not to dwell on it.

Shrugging, “We like our privacy, but our home is open to anyone who needs it.” He gestured around the room at the wounded hunters. “You’re all set.”

The man thanked him, paid in cash, and left. Sam motioned for the next person to come up, and he continued with his work until the room was empty. After a moment to count, organize, and record the day’s earnings, he rose stiffly and stretched. Rosa got up, too, and slowly drifted over to him.

“Fixing that many wears you out, doesn’t it?” she inquired, looking him over like a researcher might. She didn’t think the power was limitless, but it surprised her that he would be fatigued after only twenty people, most with very mild injuries.

He laughed. “I pace myself, but it _is_ work. I’m just happy it’s Friday.” He could do twice as many if he didn’t mind sleeping for a week and the sort of flu that came with it. The current load was more doable, and he seemed to be getting stronger over time. But healing for five days straight was exhausting. Tomorrow would be a lighter load, and then on Sunday he would rest.

Healing was something he loved doing, but it was still draining. Dean’s side business with the weapons was more of a hobby, and Cas, while devoted to his studies, was completely free during the summers and holidays. He had no doubt that of the three he worked the hardest. But it was by his own design. He felt like he had purpose when he was healing people. The only thing he enjoyed more was being with Dean and Cas.

***

He was in and out of consciousness for much of the afternoon and evening. He thought he remembered hearing screaming. Begging. Crowley squeezing the life out of four of his underlings. But why would that be done within hearing distance? Maybe he dreamed it. That seemed more likely. He wanted the demon monarch to make them suffer, and his human brain supplied the entertainment while he lay crumpled in a ball in the bed they provided for him.

And there’d been a nightmare, too.

He hoped it was a nightmare. A split second of clarity, only to witness, to his horror, the female caretaker bending down to a wound on his arm—and licking it. He didn’t know what was real or not. That creature—she’d scared the other demons effortlessly, but as far as she looked to his senses, she was just a low level demon. And yet she seemed fiercely protective of Crowley—willing to follow through with all of his orders at any cost without question. Could she have attacked him while he was out somehow? Drained his energy or, worse, drank some of his blood? Could she defy her boss, too?

Something wet touched his face. He didn’t dare open his eyes. But it wasn’t a tongue or even a hand. Cloth. Wet cloth. It smelled of herbs. Warm and oily, the liquid got into the cut on his cheek and burned.

He couldn’t help but shy away from it. A hand reached out and grasped him by the back of his neck, pulling him until he returned to the original position. With his eyes still closed, he struggled, gripping at the wrist in an attempt to force it away, but the figure held steadfast. “Hey,” it said finally, “hey, calm down, will you? I can’t fucking help you if you keep squirming like that.”

The voice, rather than the words, made him stop. He slowly opened both eyes, genuinely surprised that he could. “Get away from me.”

Crowley sat back and dumped the rag into a porcelain bowl situated close at hand on a small table. “This stuff I’ve got cooked up is gonna take the edge off. You’re not healed enough to put it on by yourself, love. Would you rather I get my girl? I’ve got other things I could be doing, yeah? Say the word, and I’m gone.”

“No,” he moaned. As much as he wanted nothing to do with this demon, the cook actually frightened him. Crowley he at least understood.

The demon expressly avoided making any sudden movements. He slowly picked up the cloth again. “I ordered them not to touch you.” In place of anger, he appeared shaken. What could’ve happened to Cas—did it scare him?

Trying to relax, he focused on that thought as Crowley started to administer the treatment again. “Did you kill them?” he asked eventually.

“Slowly.”

“And the others?”

“What others? Believe me, sweetie, everyone involved has been well and proper handled. The rest have got the idea now. I can assure you.”

He closed his eyes. “They all want to kill me.”

“Nobody’s gonna lay a finger on you again, love. You have my word on that. And I keep my promises, you know. I have to. It’s a bitch, really. But it’s good for a bit of security on your part.” He wringed the cloth out in the bowl and dipped it in again. Moving onto his arm, he took care to minimize the pain.

“How terrible.” Cas pried his eyes open again to look at him weakly.

Crowley stared back at him for a moment, with a mixture of longing and mild annoyance, before speaking. “Nonetheless, you’re perfectly safe now.”

“Would you send them away—if I asked you to?”

There was a pause as the demon thought it over.

“Well, I’d certainly take it under consideration. But I have to tell you, I’d have a terrible time believing that, even at this very instant, roughed up and in poor condition as you are, that they really scare you.”

“I don’t want to die here.”

“Come on, Cassie! Do you really think I’d let you die?”

He wanted to say that he thought Crowley was capable of anything, that the demon was trying to kill the only people he loved, and that he was keeping Cas as a prisoner, so why not? But after a few tries, he convinced himself that he might be able to get the upper hand if he played along. Subtle manipulation—pulling on emotions that now seemed incredibly obvious—might be his best chance at ever seeing the Winchesters again.

“You keep really shitty company, you know that?” It didn’t take much to sound hurt. He was. Physically. Making it appear like he felt betrayed wasn’t a big stretch.

Crowley looked to be holding back. Little signs—movements taken and then withdrawn, slight expressions on his face—conveyed hesitation. Cas could only speculate as to what his captor hoped to prevent. Could the King of Hell really gush like humans did when they were in love? Or was he merely holding off on touching him? The answers didn’t matter. Not really. But Cas was curious all the same.

Eventually, the demon seemed to give in a little, and the hand that had clamped onto the angel’s neck minutes earlier found its way to the uninjured side of his face. Cas didn’t try to remove it, though he did his best to ignore its presence.

“Not to insult your intelligence, love, but finding creatures in Hell worthy of trust is not an easy task,” he explained unhurriedly, “even with yours truly in charge. But if it’ll put your mind at ease, I’ll weed out a few more questionables, yeah? And I’ve already put the three I do trust on a double shift on your behalf.” His fingers slipped away as he rose to his feet. “Apart from helping you to leave, they’ll do whatever you ask. Food, clothing, anything you want or need. I would take one with you, though, if you plan to go visiting with the others. Just as a precaution. And if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you tell them, right? And I’ll deal with it. Promptly.”

He wandered toward the exit and only paused at the door to look back at his injured captive. Cas’s eyes followed him, but he had nothing to say to that. The treatment here, which bordered on luxurious and compassionate, seemed in stark contrast to the reality of the situation. He’d been kidnapped, taken from the two people he loved most, and from his life, his home, and everything he enjoyed. He was a prisoner, kept among vicious creatures that wanted to rip him to shreds. It was like being served expensive liquor in an arid desert. He _needed_ water.

In the next room, he heard Crowley talking to the girl, though he couldn’t discern what was said. Moments later, the demon was completely gone. The cook strode decisively into his bedroom and began cleaning things up. He watched her work, but said nothing.

After awhile, “Who’s Sam?” she asked.

Who was Sam? A giant slice of everything he cared about. A healer. A lover. A friend. A beautiful human being wrapped up in a series of unfortunate circumstances. Probably worrying himself sick—if possible—at Cas’s disappearance. Probably desperately trying to hold Dean together. Probably frightened and brought to tears.

Cas moaned.

Oh, he didn’t want them to be upset. He knew the situation was dire, and his partners were quite possibly in danger from the demons, but it was worse thinking about how much they could be hurting. How much Dean would certainly be beating himself up. And Cas couldn’t bring himself to think about what might happen if they couldn’t rescue him…

The angel cleared his throat. He thought about trying to prop himself up with the pillows, but flexing the required muscles hurt considerably. “How do you know that name?”

“Earlier. When we were trying to help you, but you kept fighting, and then you said ‘Sam will fix it.’ You don’t remember?” The eyes belonging to the body the creature inhabited looked tired. He hadn’t noticed it before, but there were dark circles beneath them.

“Sam heals people. Whenever I’m hurt or sick, he’s usually there to,” his voice caught in his throat, “to make it better.”  He’d not only come to rely on it, but everything about being healed by his companion made him feel wonderful. The familiarity of his own power, the closeness, the cool sensation—everything.

Her gaze grew distant, as though she were trying to picture it. “That sounds nice.” After a long silence, “I’ve brought you clothes,” she motioned toward a chair at the far end of the room, “and things for caring for yourself. Toothbrush, soap, etcetera. Those are in the bathroom.”

“You’re not a demon,” he accused.

“No.”

“Then what? What are you? And why does Crowley trust you more than his own kind?”

She tilted her head to one side. “I am loyal. Demons have no use for loyalty. Crowley may tell you what I am.”

“I’m asking you. He says you have to do what I ask.”

“There isn’t a word for me, for what I am now. Crowley can explain. I’m sorry, but I can’t answer your question.” It was like all of a sudden he was talking to an automated phone help service. First, no name, and now, no species? What was she? A robot? But there were already names for those!

She set a pile of towels near the door to his private bath. “I will apply more of the salve to your wounds in a few hours and bring dinner. The others are keeping watch outside. They will hear you if you call out.”

Then, it donned on him. “Wait, what were you before?”

But she was already gone.

Damnit. He hoped to remember to ask when she returned.


	11. Black Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

He’d been asleep for a few hours. The room was dark now, and his dinner—roasted vegetables and a small steak, along with what looked like iced tea—sat cold on a table within arm’s length. He reached stiffly for the drink and gulped about half of it down. He wasn’t hungry. Just thirsty and in pain.

He pulled the string on a nearby lamp, and it filled the bedroom with yellow light. Looking around, he prayed there might be a bottle of pain meds or something, but he didn’t see any. With a groan, he sat up. The cuts on his arms were already starting to heal, as though they were days and not hours old. They were damp and smelled of the healing solution. The strange cook must have given him another round of the stuff while he was out.

Maybe if he asked one of the creatures, they could bring him some normal medicine, too. But he didn’t really want to be around them. And anyway, he felt disgusting. He hadn’t showered since yesterday morning. Hot water might ease some of the pain, he told himself.

If he could make it into the bathroom, that is.

Carefully, he set his feet down on the cold floor. His legs didn’t give out, thankfully. Good sign. Grabbing a towel along the way and holding onto furniture, he made it to the faucet, turned it on, and tested the temperature. Perfect. He had to contort a bit to get his dirty and damaged clothes off, but once they were, he was able to jump in with little difficulty.

For a long time, he simply stood there, letting the water hit his back and neck. The heat worked wonders on his bruises and strained muscles. It simultaneously woke him up and calmed his nerves. He imagined that if his stay in this place became lengthy, he could regularly hide out here, away from the demons and his fear for Dean and Sam’s wellbeing.

One thing interfered, however: an overpowering smell of cheap plastic that emanated from a new, store-bought shower curtain. But he resolved to use enough of the soap and shampoo to mask it somewhat. Working some of the latter into his hair, Cas couldn’t help but notice that it was the same brand he used. The bar of soap, too. Peaking his head out, he also recognized his types of toothpaste, shaving cream, and even mouthwash. All were new and not yet opened.

A shiver coursed through him. Certainly none of the demons had ever been in their house.

Right?

Not possible with all the protections his companions had put up—some into the walls themselves and under the floorboards. So, what then? Could the new creatures, whatever they were, be immune to the warding symbols and traps? Or had they simply followed Cas to the grocery store? Why wouldn’t they just snatch him them? And how did they know which items he personally used and which were for his companions? It would take a long time if they did it that way.

Maybe this was Crowley’s idea of trying to make him feel more at home, but it was all very disconcerting. And it would never work without the Winchesters there with him. _They_ were his home. Not a bunch of chemicals. Not even the building in which they slept. Though he loved their house, Cas could be with them anywhere and still feel like he was safe and sound. Still feel loved.

He stayed in the shower, soaking up as much warmth and comfort as possible, until he felt too dizzy to remain. Getting out cautiously, he dried off, brushed his teeth, and headed back for his room. There, he found an abundance of clothing options, both draped over a chair and hanging up in a small closet. Everything was his size, including some formal wear that had to be tailored. “How—?” he asked the empty room.

But there was no one to answer his question, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

Anyone Cas interacted with prior to being taken could be a suspect, since hurting him was never part of the plan, and he rarely used his inner sight unless he had a good reason. For all he knew, the last person to take his measurements could have been a demon or one of those things.

He selected some soft cotton sweatpants and a black t-shirt before climbing back into bed. Almost on cue, one of the male creatures—a lanky quiet type whose role seemed mostly about protection—entered at the far end of the suite and came into view. He picked up Cas’s untouched plate of food and eyed it as though he might partake. “I’ll have the girl bring more,” he said quietly. “Anything else?”

“Pain pills?”

“You got it.”

It was the female who returned, a similar meal balanced on a tray with three kinds of medicine bottles accompanying it. Cas could see steam rise from the food. Feeling nauseated, he still managed to work up an appetite. Without delay, he unceremoniously dug in while the cook opened the bottles for him.

“I brought three kinds, but you can only take one for now, angel. You have to choose. One is over-the-counter. One is Vicodin,” she sounded the word out, “and one is, uh, Perco—Per-co-cet.” By the sound of it, she didn’t know what the last two were. Someone else must have retrieved them.

But Cas did. He’d taken them both at one time or another during his thirty-three years of “punishment” as a human. One at least once for mouth surgery. The other for a leg injury as a teenager. If he remembered correctly, Vicodin made him dizzy and didn’t help that much with sharp pain. The last thing he needed was to be _more_ wobbly on his feet. Percocet, on the other hand, felt very much like being in the presence of a higher angel. It was intensely good at removing not only most but _all_ pain.

It was also incredibly addictive. Both of them were. But, God, he really liked Percocet. It not only vanquished physical pain, but did one hell of a job getting rid of emotional strife for awhile. When he’d been injured, he finished off a five hundred-count bottle in little over a month. It was only by merit of being a geeky adolescent with zero drug connections that it didn’t go beyond that.

Gulping, he pointed to the third bottle. She took out two and handed them over, whereupon he swallowed the pills quickly with a few gulps of tea. No reason he had to be in agony or even conscious tonight. But, he would be careful. Pushing the plate away, half-eaten, he settled into a forest of pillows.

“Could you take the bottles with you when you go?” he asked carefully. If he wanted more, he would have to withstand the uneasy feeling he got whenever one of the creatures was in the same room as him.

He couldn’t think of a better deterrent to addiction.

“Okay.” She picked up the tray and turned around.

“Hold on.” He would get information from her if it killed him. “I wanted to ask you—you said that you didn’t know what you are now, but what about before? What were you to start off with?”

There was a long pause as she fought against giving him an answer. Eventually, without facing him, “A dog.”

What? His mind immediately pictured a house pet. A poodle or Labrador. Maybe Crowley pulled some crossroads deals, and a few poor saps had their favorite pets turned into semblances of humans. But as soon as he thought it, he silently kicked himself for being so stupid. Why would demons be afraid of a puppy with a human complex? More likely, what she meant was that she was a creature very much like a dog. And Cas could only recall one kind that might associate with the King of Hell.

“A hell hound?” He’d never heard of one being able to possess a person. They were literally very similar to dogs—travelling in packs, prone to loyalty, good at tracking, and able to follow basic commands—except not quite alive and known to be incredibly vicious. They existed naturally. One of God’s early creations.

But they were somehow attracted to the less-natural construct of Hell, and demons found them inherently useful. Especially crossroads demons, as Crowley had once been. Hell hounds offered an excellent mode to collect a soul when a person’s time was up, all while keeping the demon from getting his or her hands dirty. Of course Crowley would keep hell hounds. He wasn’t exactly the type to do work when he could have others do it for him.

She sat down in the chair with the tray in her lap. Nodding slowly, “All three of us were.”

No wonder they gave him the creeps. Most things, human and not, created after these animals were innately unsettled by them. And with good reason. When hell hounds were given a prey to target, they didn’t stop. Not until the prey was dead, or they were. Under direction, they were concentrated violence wrapped in blind determination. Cold. Not in a soothing angelic way, but in a bitter frostbite “you’ll die out here in Siberia, and no one will find you” kind of way.

“Did Crowley change you?” It would have to be a spell or some sort of dark surgery to get a hell hound into the body of a little girl, and not only that, to disguise it as a demon.

“Yes.”

He licked his lips. “Do you like being this way?”

She took a very long time to answer. “Depends. This body’s small. Weak. It’s not even fully grown. I was fully grown. I was big!” The way she said it, like she didn’t think he would believe her, was almost endearing. “It sucks at hearing. Even worse at smelling. I was the best tracker I knew. Now, I couldn’t do it at all.” She sighed. “But communication is better. I like speaking. And reading. And I like serving Crowley. He says this is the best way I can do it, so that’s what I do.”

“Do you think he’ll turn you back?”

She stood up. Shaking her head, “No.”

“Why not?”

“He has no reason to.”

***

It was the third one this week. A local hunter, more or less retired, needed emergency treatment due to a run-in with demons. He came in after normal hours, around eight, ringing the special bell they kept for exactly this purpose. His wounds were severe—stabbings and slashes pretty much all over his body. Half an hour too late, and he probably would have bled out. It took a lot of Sam’s energy to fix him, and by the end, the healer felt lightheaded and had to sit down. He’d already maxed himself out that day, so the added burden took its toll on him.

They were flooding the city, the hunter said. He knew because his aging dog, which he’d trained long ago to sniff out sulfur, was worrying itself half to death. Not sleeping. Constantly on edge. Once a hunter, always a hunter, the man had gone to investigate, and quickly found himself outnumbered.

And the two before him? One was on a different hunt that got raided by demons, and the other was attacked outside of a bar.

“They’re cleaning us out!” the man proclaimed, visibly shaken. Dean brought him a beer on the house. Standard treatment for anyone who almost died.

Cas stood at the edge of the room with a worried expression on his face. He thought what they all did: that, in order to get to them, the demons were dissolving the protective layer of hunters who came to Philadelphia, seeking to extend their lifespans.

Their presence kept the city one of the safest places in the world when it came to the unnatural. It was a haven, now, all thanks to Sam and his partners. To the point that there were specific bars, grocery stores, and other venues where hunters especially frequented. And they did so with little concern for danger. More and more hunter-owned establishments were popping up, legal and less-than-legal, with each passing day.

It was a sight to be seen.

In such a well-guarded city, tracking down and killing the Winchesters and their angel wasn’t an easy task. Especially considering they were hiding with a powerful witch in a protected building. So, it would seem they were preparing for battle, starting with little skirmishes, in an attempt to cut down all the hunters. The dormant or unsuspecting ones came first.

Philly would become ground zero for some kind of demon war, all to murder a healer and the people he loved.

Rumor had it that a few of the more reclusive hunters in the area may have already been killed. Sam called the ones he could think of, but he knew there had to be others. There were tons of hunters nearby who used his existence entirely as a precaution, but had never actually come in for treatment. For those, he had no idea if they were okay and no way to reach out to them. He couldn’t even warn them. They would have to rely on word of mouth, which, considering the trio hardly left their home since the onslaught began, wouldn’t be that easy.

Their patient fidgeted in his seat. “The bastards really want you dead, huh? What are you gonna do?”

Sam caught Dean looking at him with equal parts fear and nervousness. It was subtle on him, of course, but Sam could read it as easily as he could feel it with his extra senses. He could guess what Dean wanted. To flee. Get in his Chevy and take off for Bobby’s. Sam didn’t really have a better idea, but he under no circumstances wanted to abandon their home and business—their life here.

Perhaps, instead, they might try rallying the nearby hunters into a sort of drunken army or militia. It might happen even without their help. This Pennsylvania city was the one place where hunters could feel safe. Damn right they would want to defend it.

“We’ll fight back,” he said finally. “And we’ll protect ourselves. Get the word out to everyone. Including our customers who don’t live here. They’ll want me to keep healing, and I want it, too.”

Dean clamped his jaw shut so he wouldn’t object in front of the patient. He couldn’t trust himself not to say something that would betray the romantic implications of their relationship. Truthfully, he didn’t see any reason why they shouldn’t shutter their house, take off, and lay low for awhile. They were sitting ducks here. They were easy targets. He couldn’t stand it.

“Will you be staying here?” Cas asked the hunter.

He snorted, looking around the room. “Well, hell. I’ve kinda settled down , out at the house, you know. And if I get my ass handed to me again, I’m gonna need your special brand of First Aid. So, yeah, I guess. If you all are stickin’ around, you know I am, too. Where the hell would I go, anyhow?” He laughed uneasily. “It’s a shame though, idn’t it? I was just gettin’ used to the peace and quiet.”

“We’ll get it back,” Cas answered for Sam. He wanted the healer to know he wasn’t alone in this. And, moreover, he was trying Sam’s optimism on for size. Maybe, deep down, he wasn’t sure things would return to the calm normalcy of the last few years, but he wanted it. Badly. And he was willing to help the others in any way he could toward that goal. Even if it meant heading out to hunter bars to spread the word or try and organize them. “Right, Dean?”

It was a risky move. Cas knew just fine that the older Winchester was against this idea, but Dean’d promised—about a thousand times since their big argument and reconciliation—to try and bend a little when Sam or Cas felt strongly about something. Even important things. With a look, the angel begged him to keep his word.

There was a pause as Dean fought himself. He was ready to hogtie them both, toss them in the back of his car, and take off. He wasn’t even the type to run from a fight, but a whole army? And they were rusty! The witch had killed more demons than them this year—which wasn’t saying much, they hadn’t killed any—and she did it without even breaking a sweat.

But they did have the extra protection she provided. He didn’t think they could or should rely on her too much, but he couldn’t ignore the value there. And the city _was_ filled with hunters. It wasn’t safe here, though. They weren’t safe if they left the house. Even inside, nothing was one hundred percent monster-proof. But they did have a shot, he reluctantly admitted.

And, anyway, he’d have to pry his brother out of their place with a crowbar. Sam loved their life. He adored healing and wasting Sunday mornings in their giant bed. He cherished the handmade furniture Dean’d spent hours and hours constructing. He got glassy-eyed whenever he saw Cas and Dean having a sweet moment in the dining room or the den. And he lived for the ones he got with them, too, and for their time together as a group. Laughing over coffee or falling asleep during a movie. It didn’t matter. Everything about their setup here was perfect in his eyes.

When it came down to it, this was their home. They built it though their things and their memories. It was the only real home Sam ever had, apart from the Impala, which was an honorable substitute. But it wasn’t a house. It couldn’t give him everything he needed now. To leave would be to rip that away from him.

Cas, too.

He didn’t need it like Sam did, but he enjoyed it. The house was living proof he could have a family. He could be welcomed and accepted, as himself, in addition to being loved. More than the building, Cas also loved the city. His school, the food, the little shops, the people—everything. It was like Philly was made for him to live there. In their years in Center City, he’d found countless ways to love the metropolis more. His academics and campus friends only improved on that. To him, it was great. All of it.

“Right,” Dean said suddenly, to the astonishment of his partners. “We’re not gonna get bullied out of here by some pushy smokebags.”

Once they got over the shock, his cohorts were relieved. And to an extent, so was Dean. He knew they’d be safer if they left, but he benefited from their house, too. As much as he liked to think the road life was for him, a lot of the time he’d longed for exactly what they had now. Warm, home-cooked meals. Cold beer. Sleeping in the same bed more than a few nights in a row. He was a trained killer, and he was very good at it, but he’d never been given another choice. This place—their home—offered him that.

He didn’t let his own interest in staying factor into the decision, but making this choice did give him a small amount of comfort, as well.

Cas smiled brilliantly, and Sam would have if he wasn’t so tired.

Dean took the hunter down to his basement weapons shop and sold him a gallon of holy water, along with a throw rug with a devil’s trap painted underneath. Better equipped, the man thanked them and departed. He vowed on his way out to spread the word about the demons.

With Dean’s help, Cas guided the younger Winchester upstairs, where he promptly passed out. The angel stayed with him as Dean checked all the traps and protections for the millionth time.


	12. Pour Some Sugar On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

A sleepy, rainy day.

Quiet. Deceptively so. The trio could pretend like they were deciding to stay in, instead of being forced into hiding. With only five hunters on the docket, Sam finished his work by ten. It was almost like having the whole day off.

Cas had drifted into a nap about an hour ago. He lay draped over a worn chair he favored in their second floor living room. The sound of rain always calmed him. He could sit and listen to it for hours if he had the time, but often, it would put him to sleep if he let himself unfocus. There was a certain music to it, he said. Not quite a pattern so much as a _purpose_. Drops of rain fell exactly where they were intended to fall, and whenever they landed, it was like a note played with perfect pitch.

The Winchesters lounged on their couch, lazily watching TV. Some dramatic doctor show marathon. The healer ran his fingers gently over Dean’s hand. It was a slow process he’d taken up in recent months. He would caress and massage each joint, starting at the wrist near the thumb, and after addressing each finger, he would end with the palm.

He used it as a means by which to clear his head. Concentrating on each little step helped him dismiss many of the frustrations or anxieties he might have.

But it did twice that for the recipient. At first, it kind of just happened. They were sitting like this, and Dean had a loose grasp on the inner side of Sam’s knee—a position he found himself taking frequently now. He liked keeping a good hold on him. And it was a byproduct, Cas said, of their strong psychic bond. And then Sam picked his hand up.

He didn’t let go until he’d touched every millimeter of it at least once.

Dean’d thought it weird at the time—so much sensual attention given to what he considered a fairly non-sexual part of the body. But he figured Sam was just bored. And when he was done? Dean found he didn’t want him to stop.

Something about this kind of attention, stupidly simple as it was, felt intensely soothing. And a little exciting at the same time. It invigorated him. Whatever could have been wrong moments before, the act took a big chunk out of that. It made him feel amazing. And all Sam was doing was massaging his hand.

Now, whenever Sam got down to it, Dean was more than glad to let him. He was a sap for attention already, and it felt really good.

“What’s it like—on your end? Do you-uh, do you sense anything?” he asked out of the blue, watching the healer work. He knew Sam could pick up on emotions just like injuries, but he wasn’t sure if he’d get anything out of this.

Sam paused for a moment on one of Dean’s knuckles before starting up again. “About you?” He smiled. “Happy. Like you’re content and just really happy.” It was an added bonus. Getting to experience what his soulmate felt, and knowing he was responsible. His absent caressing made Dean so at ease. “You’re gonna hate me for this, but—it’s really sweet.”

He raised an eyebrow, blushing a little. In the right mood, he could get to talking romantically, and he wasn’t even half bad. But otherwise—most of the time—he wasn’t much for it. And he never knew how to react when Sam or Cas spoke to him like that. Even after all their time together.

At first, Sam thought it might be a masculinity thing, and their angel seemed to think it was, but he wasn’t so sure now. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dean simply didn’t take compliments well. He couldn’t handle the idea that someone might find value in him for things that had nothing to do with hunting, making weapons, or being strong.  He’d spent so much time as a kid being told that that was all he was good for. Perhaps not even that.

It broke Sam’s heart to think about. He knew there was more to him. And he tried to tell him that as often as possible. Maybe, one day, he could counteract the damage done to him.

“You don’t, umm, get that from me a lot?” Dean continued his questioning. Was he really that unhappy, that something like this would stand out?

Sam brought Dean’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I dunno. If I had my way, you’d feel like that _all_ the time, Dean. I’d make sure of it.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

“Dude,” Sam let Dean’s hand fall onto his leg, where the massaging recommenced. “I get why. With Cas, I-I know. I just—I wanna make you both happy. Like, all the time.” And keep them safe and in his arms forever. Because that was realistic, wasn’t it? Maybe they could get a pet unicorn, too. Cas could ride it to school.

At the end of the day, though, Sam didn’t care. If anything was worth fighting for or working toward, it was that. It was them.“There really isn’t anything else I want.”

Dean shook his head, and Sam could feel him tense up. “Except healing.”

While he supported his brother’s career choice, and all three of them relied on it for survival, it was the one thing that prevented them from being together as often as Dean wanted.

And being cooped up in the house didn’t help, either. They were forced to constantly be in relatively close proximity, but at the same time, Sam worked six days a week. He could have him during breaks and after, provided Sam wasn’t too worn out, but he yearned to be near him much more than that.

Worse now. Worrying about Cas—it just made Dean _need_ the closeness more.

Sam’s stomach turned. Damnit. “Okay, yeah, I like helping people, Dean. You got me. But I’d give it up for you and Cas if you asked me. Or if you needed me to. I would. Because I love you. If making you happy or keeping you depended on it, I’d do it in a second. Of course I’d do it.” He gulped. Taking a few breaths to try and calm down, “I mean, if I could have both, that would be great. And then I could say I have everything, right? But you and Cas come first. You’ll always be first.”

With the free arm, Dean reached for his beer—half empty and already warm—and took a sip. Setting it on the coffee table next to his feet, he slid his hand out from Sam’s grasp and brought it to the back of his head.  “C’mon, Sammy. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

As much as he wanted more time with him—hell, he basically yearned for it…

“Why not?” the healer was more than relieved, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Dean pushed his nose into Sam’s cheek by his ear—as much to be closer to him as to hide the discomfort this conversation produced. “I wanna see you happy, too,” he whispered. Slowly, on some level, he began to accept a basic truth about his relationship with the other two. What good was protecting them if they were miserable? If they weren’t _enjoying_ the time, as well, then they were wasting it.

Sam was a little overwhelmed by that. He knew, and he’d always known, that Dean cared about him. He cared about his soulmate more than himself. And Dean said every manner of things in support of this fact now and then, from “I love you’s”—a once impossible statement to get—to hints that he wouldn’t have much use for breathing if Sam was gone. But hearing this one, hearing that he not only wanted to protect him and be with him, but make sure he was happy—that was something else entirely. Dean was willing to throw out his own judgment for Sam’s bliss. It made sense that he would, but it was so rare for him to _say_ it.

While his brother was thinking it over, Dean changed the subject to kill the silence. “You do the hand rubbing thing with Cas, too, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Not as much, but yeah.”

“Does it feel the same way?”

Dean almost never asked about how his abilities worked or what the specifics of it were. Sam suspected that it was because his power made Dean a little uncomfortable, to think his brother was so much less human now.

The newfound curiosity was a pleasant surprise.

“No, Cas is different. From, well, everybody. I think he has just as much emotion as we do, if not more, but it comes across in a whole other way. A lot of times, it’s like he’s yelling something at me, but there’s a closed window between us. I can see it, sense it. But I can’t always tell what he means. With humans, it’s like they’re talking quietly. But I know exactly what’s going on with them, what they’re saying. You get calm and peaceful and happy. He—” Sam paused and couldn’t help but chuckle. “He kinda _purrs_.”

His soulmate burst out laughing, only to stifle it for fear of waking Cas. After a moment, “Really?”

Sam nodded. “He radiates feeling, especially when he’s happy. Like he gives off waves of emotion. And it sort of buzzes in the back of my head. Nobody else is like that.”

“Huh.” Dean tried to imagine what that could be like as he looked over at their dozing companion.

Turning, he caught the older man for a kiss. Dean hadn’t shaved yet, and Sam felt the roughness on his upper lip. But it didn’t bother him in the slightest. Dean could have a crazy beard, and he would still love touching his lips and tasting him. Hell, he got turned on half the time just by being in the same room with him. It was nearly identical with Cas, and Dean reported a similar phenomenon on his end.

They kissed with increasing vigor for what felt like ten minutes until Sam couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled on Dean’s shirt to get him closer. His soulmate got the hint and climbed into his lap, wrapped his arms around Sam’s back, and put his whole body into the excitement at hand.

God, every time they got this close, Dean felt like he could just lose himself completely. Every little touch and all the big actions—even if the point was to get _himself_ off or to please _himself_ , it was still all about Sam. Eliminating anything that stood between them. Connecting. Giving him whatever he wanted. When it was just the two of them, Dean could forget, for awhile, about the pain of possibly losing Cas and focus on his other half.

And the healer knew it. He could feel the ache melt away. It uplifted Sam and gave him an extra boost of confidence, which he used to do the things he knew Dean would like. As much as his partner understood what Sam enjoyed and wanted to focus on that, he was prepared to give it right back. As far as Sam was concerned, his brother should get just as much attention.

The older Winchester had Sam’s shirt open and was reaching inside when they heard a sound at the doorway.

No one had bothered to close the door. It was their house, and for several years, only the three lived there. To an extent, they made adjustments for Rosa’s presence. They didn’t get hot and heavy in the main room downstairs, for instance, and they kept their talk around her reserved and almost platonic. But it wasn’t easy to break all their old habits, and on some level, none of them really wanted to.

She stood in the hall, a priceless book hanging neglected from her fingers. She’d been devouring their small library in lieu of getting any usable information out of Cas. This was the third such book Rosa’d finished in the last two days, and she was looking for another.

The blood in her face drained from the sight before her. She had a hunch that something of this nature might be going on in the den, but she’d put all her chips on it being the angel and Sam. Those two seemed to get busy twice as often as the other combinations, or at least, they did so around other people more frequently. Over time, she thought that seeing them sitting close to each other or talking like a couple might even cease to bother her.

If she’d known it was the brothers, however—fucking hell.

She felt sick. They were well on their way to having sex, but the two were one hundred percent blood related. And they didn’t seem to care at all! No hesitation. No second guessing. She’d known for awhile about them. About their intense and perverted interest in each other. But she’d thankfully managed to see very little, possibly by the Winchesters’ design. Now that she had? It was disgusting. It made her skin crawl and her face get hot.

Finding a new book wasn’t even remotely worth having to witness that. Even if they had been forthcoming with all the information she wanted, Rosa didn’t think she would ever be okay with the sick stuff these two liked to do in their free time. She didn’t enjoy seeing any of it, but that?

Just no.

But she was already there, and they’d already noticed her. She couldn’t slink back to her room now. The damage had been done. “Uh,” she averted her gaze and raised the book, “it was a light read.”

Dean’s breath caught in his chest and every one of his muscles locked up. He was self-conscious as it is about being seen by outsiders, even if they were accepting. Rosa was anything but. She fundamentally opposed even basic same-sex relationships. Nevermind an incestuous one, or one with three people, across two species. Personally, he’d long since come to terms with these things. But it’d taken time, patience on his partners’ parts, and love.

He didn’t like other people having an opinion about it. It wasn’t any of their business. And he certainly didn’t care for having their session interrupted.

Likewise, Sam wasn’t thrilled about it, either. He hated having to tiptoe around in his own house just because the witch couldn’t stomach their affections toward each other.

But Rosa’s judgment of them didn’t really bother him. He knew they were meant to be together. He knew their angel was more human than many of the people they met from day to day. And he knew he loved them both more completely than some people would ever even get to experience. It was solid. Immovable. Secure.

So, her obvious nervousness actually amused him in this moment. Grinning, he didn’t take his eyes off of Dean, whose own unease he hoped to vanquish. “ _Medieval Analysis of Atypical Forest Formation_ is a light read?” he laughed. “You must really like trees.”

He held Dean’s face in both hands, and with a heavy stare, tried to convey that this exchange was not worth worrying about.

“Got anything I can actually use?” she spoke shakily.

The question was loud enough to wake the angel, who sleepily noticed her first, and then slowly came to understand the situation. His expression changed to one of surprise, but he didn’t immediately say anything.

When Dean tried to slide off of his lap, Sam refused to let him. He saw no reason why Rosa should be placated. It was _their_ house. Their life. Instead, he kissed him, looked into his eyes, and smiled. Without turning to her, “I think there’s one on Feng Shui downstairs. You could help us redecorate afterwards.”

They were toying with her. Rosa wasn’t stupid. They knew their lifestyle bothered her, and they were throwing it in her face. And, worse yet, they weren’t lifting a finger to help her learn more. She was furious. She wanted to lash out, to show them that they should respect her.  But then, what hope would she have of ever getting the information she came for? With willpower that impressed even herself, Rosa shoved the fire back down until she could answer without betraying it to the others.

“Combat, conjuring, or creatures.”

Sam silently thought that was a very catchy way to put it. But he wasn’t going to compliment her in this situation. He didn’t owe her anything, and his allegiances were firmly with Dean and Cas. “You’d love our friend Bobby. He’s got a library bigger than this house.” He peered over at the angel, who seemed almost as anxious as his soulmate. Time to move things along. “But, uh, I think there’s a compilation of oral histories about vampires. Second shelf to your left. Three in. Red. Leather bound.”

Rosa was relieved. She would have taken any book to be able to leave the room, but something that might actually come in handy? Sam was quickly shaping up to be her favorite out of the three, despite his abhorrent proclivities. She turned her back on them, dropped to a crouching position, and ran her finger across the old books until she found it. Most of them were unlabeled on the outside. She wondered what secrets they held.

Picking up the tome, she pressed it to her chest and swiftly walked out the door. She didn’t stop until she’d made it into the safety of her room, where she closed the door and locked it.

She’d made very few adjustments to the room. Her belongings fit neatly in a single set of drawers. But she kept obsessively detailed notes, both about her housemates and from the texts she’d been absorbing. Any important passage Rosa copied word-for-word. Quotes. Paraphrasing. Thoughts. She had three notebooks she was filling. And she wrote in small, neat text. Stacked two at a time for every normal-sized line. All uppercase. Blue ink. She’d write until her wrist got tired.

What else could she do?

Back in the other room, Sam motioned for Cas to join them on the couch. “Up for some fun?”

Cas blushed, but nodded. He got up from the chair and stretched. Walking over to the door, he shut it and made sure it was latched before taking a seat next to them at Sam’s left. His company had a peculiar way of making Dean feel instantly relaxed. Even his soulmate couldn’t replicate it so quickly, and he had to actually try!

The angel sat and waited to be included, as though he didn’t want to intrude. But he never had to worry about that. Dean reached down to him and caressed his chin. Sam followed suit, gripping him by the waist. He pulled Cas up until he was kneeling, and the Winchesters wrapped him up in a loose embrace.

His first independent act was to kiss Dean fervently, working his tongue into his mouth and pushing him back a little. Dean had to use his hold on Sam to steady himself against the flourish. Sam only watched at first. It was really sexy, seeing them so enthralled with each other. He could only barely remember a time that witnessing this made him jealous. He felt nothing like that now. In fact, it did wonders to turn him on.

As did Cas’s hand, which slipped inside Sam’s jeans—already undone from Dean’s earlier efforts—and touched him. He made no attempt to be gentle. He knew Sam wouldn’t appreciate it as much as a firm grasp. The healer leaned back and tried not to moan too much. Ever an excellent multitasker, Cas didn’t skip a beat with Dean, who for the longest time had no idea the angel was even showing his brother any attention. It was only when Cas’s expert fondling produced noises that he looked to see what was happening.

Entertained, Dean broke away from Cas for a moment. “You okay there, Sammy?”

Cas didn’t let go of either of them. He only moved more deliberately for Sam, and for Dean, he switched to chewing on his ear.

Sam laughed. “You have no idea what you two do to me!”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Cas insisted, giving him an especially forceful tug. He’d practically made a career out of doing things to Sam. All sorts of things. He knew the healer’s body as much as he did his own. Dean was consistently great in bed, too, but Sam was fearless when it came to trying new things, and the healer loved— _loved_ —letting Cas take the wheel.

Tilting his head back, Sam looked like he was in Heaven. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“Come on. Let’s go upstairs.” Cas stood up abruptly. He let his eyes walk over the two.

“What, you don’t want to give the witch a heart attack?” Dean teased. “We could be extra loud. She might even skip town.”

Cas could only hope. But as much as he would have loved to annoy Rosa, it didn’t feel right with her across the hall, sitting in silent judgment. There wasn’t much that could cramp his style when it came to the Winchesters, but that woman just irked him beyond belief. “It’s tempting, but I don’t think this couch is big enough for the three of us.”

Sighing, Dean dismounted and met him for another kiss. Sam followed, still incredibly aroused and wanting more. Cas led the two upstairs, turned to face them, and then fell back onto the bed dramatically. He wriggled out of his shirt and pants and lay there looking up at them. He beckoned them both with two fingers, and, without hesitation, they climbed across the mattress toward him, stripping off their own clothes as they went.

The humans took a moment to size him up. And, more importantly, to decide about an approach. They could easily agree that it’d been a long time since Cas, and Cas alone, was the center of attention. Dean took about half a second longer to work out a plan, so Sam made a move first. He kissed his soulmate quickly. Then, he picked up one of the angel’s legs and pressed it down against the other so that he lay partially on his side. He knew it’d be—well—tighter this way, which meant more sensation for both of them. Applying lubrication with record speed, he wasted no time and thrust inside him.

Cas clutched at the sheets and breathed loudly. His mouth opened wide, and he flashed white teeth as he tried to smile on top of it all. The move was bold for Sam. Different. Exciting. And, oh, it felt good. So incredibly good. And before Cas knew it, Sam had an expert grip on him, too. Retaliation from moments earlier.

But Dean wasn’t about to be left out. And watching them, only one idea on how to contribute came to mind. He crept past Cas’s knees northward, bent down, and rested the palm of his hand on the back of the angel’s neck, which moved, as his whole body did, with Sam’s rhythm. Cas licked his lips and stared up at him, trying to be seductive. It didn’t take a genius to guess what Dean had in mind.

The angel considered himself fairly adept with his mouth, and Dean agreed. Emphatically. Cas propped himself up on one elbow as Dean grazed his lower lip. Uncircumcised. Both Winchesters were. He pulled back the skin, extended his tongue, and licked him.

Dean could’ve been a little rough if he wanted to. Cas wouldn’t have objected in his current state, overcome with arousal from Sam’s tireless efforts. But something about his sweet expression made Dean want to take it slow. As Cas’s tongue traversed the lines and edges of him, Dean resisted the urge to push forward. It was only when Cas latched onto him at the upper thigh and pulled him closer that he let himself slide deeply into his mouth.

By the contention of all involved, his skill in this matter was unsurpassed. Dean could do it well enough, and Sam gave it his best try, but the angel? The way he applied the right amount of pressure and moved in perfect rhythm, and of course how he employed his tongue—God. If Dean could have this treatment every day, he’d probably die from ecstasy.

The older Winchester could easily get off this way if he and Cas so desired, but the angel labored against it. He neither wished for things to end so quickly, nor did he particularly want to deal with the result. It didn’t bother him, not at all, but it wasn’t exactly his favorite part, either. And allowing Dean to finish would mean eliminating him from the equation, which Cas didn’t even remotely want.

And he so loved what Sam was doing, too. Every push and withdrawal. Every readjustment. The heat. The strength he commanded. It was almost too much to bear.

Taken in conjunction with Dean?

Cas could hardly think.

He didn’t have to do much at all for Sam. The positioning, his subtle moaning—muffled now for obvious reasons—and heavy breathing were more than enough. Bent over him, his skin damp from sweat, Sam had everything he could want. All the sensation for himself, plenty of emotional excitement from Cas, and getting to watch him and Dean connect. It was perfect. And so very—

“Fuck.” He couldn’t hold on. No matter how much he wanted to, his body planned to betray him. He felt like he could go a hundred times with Cas like this.

Damnit.

Sam didn’t stand a chance.

He froze up, stopped deep inside him—and came. Passion and pleasure overwhelmed all of his senses. His energy drained, along with any interest in going another round. Out of breath, he pushed on the backs of Cas’s legs to free himself and collapsed next to him.

“Mmm?” Cas looked over.

To Dean’s dismay, he pulled away enough to disconnect from him, too. But before the older Winchester could object, Cas motioned down with his eyes. Just because Sam was finished, didn’t mean he was.

Dean couldn’t pass up such an offer. But when he moved into position, Sam grabbed the angel and pulled him, stomach down, into his arms. He kissed him zealously, to the point of being comical. “Hey, Sammy, what gives?” Dean didn’t know whether to be offended that Sam was hogging Cas, or amused at _how_. “I think me and the angel still have some, you know, business left.”

Sam laughed and kissed Cas some more. “Well, yeah, Dean. What are you waiting for?”

 _Oh_. “You want a front row seat?”

Pretty much. While it was hopeless for Sam to go again, he had an idea that he could still experience some of the finer points of what remained of the three’s encounter, so long as he stayed under Cas. And he could help a little with finishing him off while Dean had some fun of his own. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The angel laughed. He’d never quite tried it like this before, but it was certainly creative. As Dean lay one hand on his lower back and guided himself in, Cas brought his nose down to Sam’s. He teased him, going in for a kiss and then pulling back before he could get one.

But Sam was patient—and tired. He lay there and waited for Cas to come to him. When he did, the healer could taste Dean on his lips. It was faint, but unmistakable. He liked it. More than if it had been himself, though there was a certain satisfaction that came from that, too. He wanted to mention it, but he figured Dean would just find it weird. Maybe it was. He really didn’t know what normal was supposed to be anymore. What they had was anything but normal.

Whatever it was, Sam liked it a whole lot better.

Dean wasn’t used to being _second_. The feel was different, and he had to be careful since Cas was more sensitive now. But at the same time, he felt so much warmer. Wet. And there was something incredibly kinky about Sam having been there first. He wasn’t sure why. They had sex directly all the time. Still, it was nice.

He was a little more forceful than Sam had been, but not rough or violent. He just pushed a little farther and moved faster. To a very important result. As Cas jerked forward, so did Sam, who loved every minute of it. He tried to match Dean’s motion with the strokes he gave their angel.

Caught between the two of them, it felt like every part of Cas was electrified. Every little touch just excited and aroused him more. The places where Sam’s body rubbed against his own. Dean’s grip on his sides. Even the healer’s breath on his face. Everything served to get him closer and closer to one of the best orgasms he’d ever had.

And when it finally happened?

It was astounding. Sam held him close, and Dean kept going, but only long enough to ensure Cas got everything he wanted. As the angel began to relax, Dean pulled out and finished himself off unceremoniously—with the help of the back of Cas’s leg. He really wanted this to be about Cas. And it was still pretty awesome, all things considered.

The three slowly moved apart. Dean ended up on his back near the right side of the bed, and, after a little toweling off, Cas rolled down from the healer so he could end up at Dean’s side. The two shared a few lazy kisses as Sam got up.


	13. Outlaw Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Sex always made him hungry. More so than healing or even working out did. But Sam knew they were down to the bare essentials in their fridge and cupboards, and that simply wouldn’t do. “I’m gonna run up the street to get some food,” he proclaimed. “We’re out of everything. Want me to get anything apart from the usual?” Milk, eggs, bread, red meat…

“Alone?” With an army of demons breathing down their necks? Dean narrowed his eyes. “Dude, lemme get a shower, and I’ll go with you.”

His stomach growled. “It’s just five blocks. Middle of the day.” And much more public than the route he’d taken on the run that started this whole mess. “And I’m freakin’ starving. I could eat a throw pillow right now.”

“You’re not goin’ by yourself,” Dean left Cas behind and headed for their bathroom. “Just gimme like five, ten minutes.”

“Dean, come on.”

His soulmate sighed. “Then take the Howitzer with you.”

“The what?” came from the angel, who was now face down on their bed.

“Rosa. He means Rosa,” Sam explained. He wasn’t thrilled by the idea. Especially not after how she acted when she walked in on them. But if it meant he could get something substantial to eat, he’d put up with it. “And I guess, yeah.” Maybe she could help carry everything.

He kissed Dean on the cheek, walked over to Cas, and patted him on the back. Getting dressed hurriedly, he headed downstairs.

***

She didn’t say much throughout the walk to the store. It was still drizzling, but it felt cool on Sam’s face. He gave Rosa an old brown umbrella.

Inside, they piled a cart full of every kind of food item Sam and his partners ate, along with necessities for the house. Rosa carried a basket of her own. She bought mostly junk food and fresh fruit. As they were paying, Sam noticed she’d grabbed a few bottles of Spanish pineapple soda. He snickered. “Better not show those to Dean.”

The witch gave a perplexed look. “Why? He only likes American soda?”

“No!” He couldn’t believe she would jump to such a conclusion. Dean may not have been the most cultured person among the three, but he wasn’t ignorant or over-patriotic or whatever she was getting at. “No, not that at all. Dean, he—he actually loves telenovelas. I’m pretty sure he’s addicted. Anyway, when he found out about all the different flavors of soda and snacks you can get, he started bugging me and Cas to buy some. We usually try and eat healthy, but I was gonna cave—and then all the trouble started.”

“Huh.” That was not quite what she expected. “Okay.”

Sam probably should have dropped it there, but his curiosity prevailed. “What is it?”

She frowned. “The way you talk about him…”

“Like I’m in love with him?” They picked up the grocery bags and headed out the door. Sam’s heart sped up slightly in anticipation of a tense, possibly argumentative discussion. When she didn’t reply, “Like I have been for years?”

Maybe his whole life.

“He’s your _brother_. Your blood.” She didn’t look at him. “That doesn’t bother you?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. He wanted to get angry, to lash out at her for invading their privacy and questioning one of the best things about his life. But what would that prove? And who would that help? Instead of answering, he asked a question right back and tried to keep calm. “Have you ever been in love, Rosa?”

“Not with my own family members.”

He forced himself to shrug. “It’s the same thing. If you know what love is—I mean really _know_ —then you’d realize that it doesn’t matter what the person is. So long as it’s an adult who loves you back. Stuff like gender and relation aren’t that important, at least not to me. It’s not what I focus on. I just see Dean. I see a person who’s devoted every part of himself to me for more of his life than should seem possible. I see the way he lights up when I smile at him. I see his pain, too. And all I wanna do is make it better. I don’t know how anyone could think that’s wrong. It isn’t. It’s not even different. So, no, it doesn’t bother me.”

Rosa couldn’t quite work out how to react to that. On one hand, he seemed genuine, or maybe he just genuinely believed it. He was the most level-headed of the three as far as she could discern. But what he said—he had to be delusional. Something was broken there. She didn’t know enough about her housemates or their childhood to say if there’d been any abuse, but maybe something had happened…

But somehow it seemed unlikely. Dean had a strong, commanding personality, but it wasn’t even half Rosa’s. And he was smaller and shorter than Sam. When Sam wanted something, Dean bent over backwards to get it for him, and though Dean was functionally head of the house, Sam was the main breadwinner.

Then, what could explain this? Coercion, and then Sam convinced himself it was love? Same problem. Dean was older, but not bigger. Maybe he was at one time, but she still somehow doubted it.

Only one way to find out. “How old, uh, were you—?”

Sam stopped walking abruptly, and she did, too. “When we went from being brothers to being more than that? Mid-twenties.”

Really? She wasn’t sure she could believe that. “Why wait so long?”

“Didn’t have it all figured out until then. But even if I had, Dean never would’ve done anything, if that’s what you’re getting at. Growing up, all he ever did was look out for me, okay? He was always there. He wouldn’t have taken advantage of me even if I’d thrown myself at him as a teenager.” He couldn’t help but get emotional. “I had to twist his arm for him to even consider it. He was already in love with me, but he wouldn’t let himself show it.”

And he was dating Cas at the time. But that information, like most of it, was none of Rosa’s business.

“But I convinced him, eventually.” His lip started to shake, and he couldn’t make it stop. “If you think Dean did anything to make me—you don’t know us at all. Hell, maybe if you did, maybe if everyone did, you’d see that we’re not doing anything wrong here. We’re soulmates. Real soulmates. We’re not hurting anybody. I help people every day. And I have to hide because what we do makes people like you uncomfortable. Dean’s a fucking hero—and not just to me—and us being together makes you think he’s a monster! That doesn’t bother _you_?! Why the hell not?!”

He left Rosa there, striding the remaining block back home by himself. No wonder Cas hated her.

To an extent, Sam acknowledged that there would always be people who didn’t understand his and Dean’s relationship. But they’d largely been able to avoid open judgment from others. Most of the people they associated with now had no idea they were siblings. They didn’t look too much like each other for anyone to question. And those who did know—Bobby and Ellen—seemed to have come to terms with it. Because they knew Dean and Sam. They understood what the two were made out of and what their motivations were. Sam didn’t need to explain that Dean wasn’t some sort of predator. They’d seen that he wasn’t. They _knew_.

Rosa crept in while Sam was putting the food away. He heard her put down the bags of groceries meant for the whole house. She waited in case he had anything more to say, but he didn’t acknowledge her. More or less off the hook, she climbed the stairs and shut herself away in her room.

She’d really fucked that up, hadn’t she? Any plans to keep Sam as an ally were probably ruined now. She hadn’t really meant to set him off, and if he told Dean about their conversation, she might have to leave prematurely. But she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Even if it was sick and wrong what they were doing—though maybe a little less so than she initially thought—the fact had nothing to do with her quest for knowledge. She didn’t care what happened to them, she reminded herself. And inquiring about their sex lives threatened to ruin the whole thing.

If she managed to stick around, she vowed not to bring it up again.  

***

The local hunters slowly received news of their little demon problem. Either through word of mouth or direct altercations. No one was off-limits. They were attacking every single person who even knew about hunters. Including the children—and grandchildren—of retired ones. Luckily, no kids had been killed, yet, but a few had been injured, and it was only a matter of time.

Some rightfully fled the city. Nothing was worth risking their families, and no one blamed them for leaving. But the ones who stayed began preparing themselves for war. They built up their personal armories. Refortified their homes. They met in secret safe houses as often as their day jobs—if they had them—would allow.

The trio’s home became one of them. Twice that week already, a group had specifically come just to meet and plan ways to gank the demons more efficiently. They required nothing of the house’s residents, though an invitation was extended if they wanted to provide input. As payment for use of the large main room—and some loaned chairs—they brought a case of beer, some sandwiches, and a promise to keep the three in the loop about goings-on amongst the hunters they knew.

Dean sat and listened, but despite every impulse to join in, he kept his distance unless he really had something valuable to stay. Even then, it rarely went beyond a mention of a gadget or weapon he’d built that might come in handy. He knew Sam would freak if he started acting like a hunter again, and Cas wouldn’t love it, either.

But it was tempting. All these other hunters, many much older and weaker than Dean, were coming out of retirement to fight off a swarm of creatures. He could contribute. He was great at killing bad guys. He still had urges to do it, to take a job with Bobby or one of Sam’s patients. They’d definitely appreciate his aid.

They could help in other ways, though, Sam insisted. They could organize. Open their home. Heal the injured. Match hunters together with complementary skills. Spread information.

And bring in reinforcements. Sam spent much of his free time calling and emailing his patients from around the country—and a few from overseas. Come back to Philly, he told them. It’s in danger. The hunter Mecca, and the whole healing operation, is in danger.

Dean called only one person.

Though they’d been eliciting Bobby for advice since day one, having him actually there—handing him the problem and letting him work with the people directly—seemed like the best way for him to come up with some solutions.

He was brilliant at managing a situation, and better yet, he was family.

Being the stubborn old hunter that he was, Bobby insisted on driving most of the way to Pennsylvania himself, which was fine by Dean, who didn’t exactly want to attempt a long, roundtrip journey to South Dakota using angel flight. The man started the trek right away, and he wouldn’t hear any talk about whether or not it was a convenient time or what his schedule looked like.

But he was adamant about traveling alone. He wouldn’t risk bringing Ellen. No amount of protest would help her case. Too many demons out for blood, he said. And he was careful about himself, as well. He pulled his car off the road near a park some distance from the city, picked up one of his cellphones, and dialed Dean’s number.

“Hey, idjit, I’m in your neck of the woods. Get your ass in gear and pick me up.”

“Geez, Bobby!” The long trip must’ve had him in a bad mood. “Hold your horses. I’ll be there in a sec.”

But he didn’t head for the door. He simply got up from his chair and went into the kitchen, where Cas was cutting sandwiches and Rosa was brooding within earshot of the hunters. He kissed the angel by his jawline and pulled him close for a moment.

“I’ll be back.”

Cas nodded. “Be careful, okay?”

“Of course.” With a flap of his wings, he left and was instantaneously in the deserted park they’d chosen for their meeting.

It’d been a few months—nearly half a year—since they’d seen each other in person. Too long. Despite his temperament on the phone, Bobby immediately hugged him. “Damnit, boy, what’ve you got yourself into?”

He looked around, not quite nervous, but positively well-aware that they were out in the open and unprotected. “We could use your help.”

“Damn right you could. Think you can carry my ass and a big ol’ bag along with? I heard your little house guest is a book worm.” The idea that Dean could fly them both back to his house, or anywhere for that matter, was still strange to old hunter, even though he’d experienced it several times already. But there wasn’t any use in showing it. The kid—and Dean would always be a kid to him—was noticeably self-conscious about it.

Dean laughed. “I think I can manage. Let’s go.”

They arrived out of sight in the second floor hallway. Dean directed Bobby to leave the books next to the guest bedroom. Rosa would be overjoyed. These were some of the man’s duplicates and lesser books, but they were still a thousand times better than anything the boys had collected on their own. Dean didn’t think their tenant was worth the effort, but it wasn’t his call.

“So, where you puttin’ me up, if not here?” He’d stayed in that room a handful of times. It was simple and quiet. But he wasn’t picky. He could sleep anywhere with a mattress or a couch.

“Well, we’ve got an extra finished room down by my workshop. Moved all the crap out we store in there. Cas set up a cot and everything else. It’s in the basement, but it’s not so bad, I swear.” He grinned. “If you hate the smell of sawdust, though, the couch up here pulls out.”

Bobby chuckled. “Basement’s fine.” As they started walking downstairs, “How is he, anyway?”

“Who? Cas? He’s all right. Did great on all his tests. We kinda had a rough patch, but—”

“Your fault, I take it?” he cut in.

Dean scoffed, but Bobby was right. Hanging his head, “Yeah, a little. But, uh, everything’s okay now, I think.”

“Good.”

In the dining room, Sam emerged to great them. Bobby didn’t skimp on a hug for him, either. He saw Sam significantly less. Before the demon outbreak, Dean would come to visit now and then, showing off new inventions or just to get out of the house for awhile. But Sam rarely took vacations, and when he did, he typically endeavored to spend it with his partners or relaxing. If Bobby wanted to enjoy time with the younger Winchester, he had to drag his old bones down to Philly.

But it was good to see him. He held on for a long time. Long enough to properly convey, without having to get all mushy about it, that he missed having the kid around. When he let go, Bobby noticed the angel waiting to say hello, as well. He offered his hand to shake, but Bobby just looked at it.

Cas withdrew. He had a rocky history with this man. Though he tried his best to make up for it, it appeared like Bobby was still holding a grudge. But as soon as he brought his hand down, the hunter hugged him, too. Briefly, but still. Cas stood with his mouth hanging open for a few moments, while Sam started smiling.

“I think we’re past that stage, son,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Shakin’ hands feels like you’re selling me a damn car.”

The angel tried not to seem too keyed up over the event, since there were plenty of more important matters at hand, but inside? He was overwhelmed with happiness. Bobby was like a dad to Sam and Dean, and by some accounts, a better one than their biological father. To be accepted by him this completely was to be acknowledged as a legitimate part of their lives. It was one thing for him to be begrudgingly invited to Bobby and Ellen’s wedding. This was unequivocal. And a pretty big deal.

Sam watched the whole scene unfold. It gave him a warm feeling to witness Cas getting flustered, and he liked seeing Bobby accepting him, too. He rested one hand just beneath Cas’s ear in reassurance.

“There’s a bunch of locals in the next room,” Dean explained, getting down to business. “Brainstorming session, if you want in.”

“Have they come up with anythin’ worth somethin’?” Apart from just killing the demons as they came along, Bobby hadn’t heard much in the way of a concrete plan. Except abandoning Philadelphia entirely, but it didn’t seem like a whole lot of folks were up for that.

Sam let his arm fall to Cas’s back, but made sure to keep him close. “Not yet.”

“Is that Bobby Singer I hear?” asked a voice from one of the hunters in the other room. Bobby followed it until he came into view of the others. “Well, holy shit. It is! It’s Bobby fucking Singer! Jesus!”

“I usually leave the ‘fucking’ and ‘Jesus’ parts off of my name. Too formal.”

They laughed. He barely recognized the hunter who’d called him, but after a moment, he remembered his name was Cid. They’d worked a few big cases back in the day, and oddly enough, they’d parted ways without Cid wanting to have Bobby’s head. A quick look around the room revealed a few more familiar faces, though none he’d come to know personally. They greeted him with smiles all around.

Unbeknownst to Bobby, Sam had actually mentioned off-hand—though entirely on purpose—that their good friend Bobby might be stopping by to offer up some sage-like advice. So, when he did arrive, they were all happy to see him.

Well, all right then.

He took a seat at the end of the oval of chairs, near the front door. Cas brought him a roast beef sandwich and a can of beer before retreating to the kitchen. The group seemed to be socializing over the food more than planning at this point, so he simply waited for everything to die down.

After a few minutes, Cid leaned over, and with a mouth full of food, addressed him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Shit. Dean probably wasn’t telling a whole lot of people about his extra skill set. But lying on the spot was a valuable trait for a hunter, and Bobby was one of the best. “C’mon, now. I ain’t that old. Of course ya didn’t hear me, Cid. That’s the damn point.”

The man let out a single loud laugh. “You still got it!”

Sam and Dean shuffled into the room, dragging fold-out chairs, which they set up next to Bobby. Dean cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. But Bobby couldn’t help but notice that Sam seemed distracted. His focused on a woman sitting away from the group in the far corner. She leaned against the wall as though she might be tired, but her eyes were sharp and alert. And she studied every little detail of the conversing hunters. Almost like an animal eyeing prey.

“Your house guest?” he surmised.

Nodding slowly, Sam didn’t look away. “She’s supposed to stay out of sight for these meetings.”

“…so if you could just give Bobby here am overview of some of the stuff you guys have come up with so far, then maybe he can give some advice,” Dean spoke over them.

An older woman who reminded him a little of Ellen went through their humble list. Raiding the city’s supply of rock salt. Putting holy water in water guns and giving them to the younger members of hunter families. Creating a buddy system so that hunters only went out in groups. Setting up a sort of sentry program where hunters actually patrolled to city.

They were all—ideas.

Bobby hated them. They were either too shallow to have much effect or incredibly unfeasible. “Well, I would say—”

“I have another idea,” Rosa cut him off. She moved to the edge of her seat and straightened her back. The whole room turned toward her. Despite her size, she had a commanding voice. “That you might want to consider.”


	14. Run to the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Sam glared at her, and so did Cas, who stood near the archway toward the kitchen. But Bobby’s only commentary on their predicament was to explain why their ideas wouldn’t work. He didn’t see how hearing her out could hurt. “Go ahead, then.”

She rose to her feet and paced closer to the group with her arms tucked behind her back. “Umm, well, one good start would be to, uh—I think we should make Philadelphia a weapon.”

“What?” Sam asked and several others echoed.

Gulping, “Through holy water. In the water supply.”

“Uh, I don’t think pouring holy water down the drains will work,” Cid taunted.

“It wouldn’t,” she replied quickly. “I mean, we turn the water supply into holy water. All of it. The reservoirs. The processing plants. The sewers. Everything. Until all the faucets and hoses and sprinkler systems run with holy water. If we do that, every tap is a weapon. Light a match in an office building. Toss a demon into one of the fountains. Whatever. The whole city becomes toxic. Dangerous.”

Dean was intrigued. “Dude, like in _Constantine_ …” he muttered.

Bobby smoothed down his beard and sat back. “And how would we go about doin’ that?”

“All it takes to make a jug of holy water are the right words and a rosary, right? So, let’s step it up. Priests. We’ll get any kind of pastor and reverend, too. Holy clergy. I know if we ask around we can find enough. And we put them.” She stopped to take a breath. “We put them at key places across the city. We give them the right words. And they do it all at the same time. So long as we hit all the sources and the major centers, maybe hang rosaries, too, we should—it could work. I think it could really work.”

The others couldn’t see it, but Rosa felt her hands tremble. Having their undivided attention was immensely stimulating.

“Think you could plan all that out? I mean, step by step?” Bobby asked, tilting his head to one side.

“Yeah, with help. Definitely.”

It was the best idea Bobby’d heard so far. He didn’t necessarily think it would work, but it was worth a try. “Okay. You’ve got my vote, young lady. Let’s do it.”

***

She stood on the balcony of some dull grey-clad highrise and surveyed the scene below. Semi-discretely, a team of hunters, dressed head to toe in stolen public works gear and uniforms, were beginning their mission. They strode across the concrete and into a nearby building, where they had all the right fake IDs, clearances, and keys to garner access to the city water supply.

Among them was the Archbishop of Philadelphia, who, instead of his typical garb, donned the outfit of a common maintenance worker. The specifics of how they’d gotten him here were not entirely revealed to Rosa, but from what she understood, the hunters called in a few dozen favors, coughed up a giant tithing for the archdiocese, and asked very nicely.

They’d gone to great lengths to conceal his identity, as he was the most recognizable figure among them. He didn’t shave for a few days, and apart from the change in clothes, he added temporary blond dye to his hair, which was left unruly. By merit of what and who he was, the man would be Rosa’s biggest concern. Which is exactly why she stood watch at this location, and not one of the other thirty or so targets throughout the city and surrounding areas. That, and this was the biggest job of all of them. More of Philly’s water ran through this hub than any other place, so it was the largest complex, and it had the most security.

The day’s endeavor had been intricately designed, mostly by Rosa, her three housemates, and a core group of about fifteen hunters. It’d only taken a few weeks to put together. The locations were chosen and studied first, and then teams were assigned to each one, based on need. There were nearly two hundred people involved now, and not all from the city.

Almost every team had at least two clerics with them, which consisted of a main, who was meant to perform the necessary ritual, and the backup, who could either take over if something went wrong or simply to assist. Each group had a leader, as well as individuals meant for specific tasks like carrying equipment or picking locks. Some were just muscle in case they were disturbed.

There were four holy officials in the group she watched over. In this case, the bishop and one of his colleagues would say the words simultaneously, in an attempt to make the water as potently holy as possible. A third—the lone Lutheran amongst Catholics—would bless the filtering apparatus separately, to make absolutely sure, while the fourth would help if needed. Along with, there were twenty hunters, half of which went inside with the priests. The other half fanned out across the complex, taking protective positions and keeping watch.

At their disposal was an extensive toolkit, which featured, among hunter staples like lockpicking kits and weapons, as many rosaries and religious implements they could carry. At the spots where it was possible, Rosa’s little soldiers would hang rosaries inside water tanks and pipes. They’d drop crucifixes wherever they could touch water without being detected. They’d even paint demon traps in the few places where the symbols could be hidden. Anything that could be done to put things in their favor.

As the orchestrator, she needed to be on the outside to make sure things went smoothly. And of course, she wasn’t lining up to put her ass on the line, either. So, she stood literally above it all.

Spread out on a metal table were fifteen pre-paid cellphones. Two groups for every phone, which were all labeled accordingly by number. The numbers represented importance, with the biggest job being number one. If they needed aid, or there was a delay, they could call the specific phone she provided. If everything went smoothly, they would each text to check in. Then, from a central phone, Rosa would send out a mass text in return, signaling them to begin. A final message to indicate completion would be sent from each group once they got out safely.

The angel was on-hand to help answer them if there were any problems.

And the Winchesters were there, too, though they sat near the back of the balcony by the door. Sam had to be there, in case someone got hurt and she would have to dispatch him. And with both of his lovers camping out with Rosa, Dean saw no reason why he shouldn’t hang around, too. Besides, they might need a quick way out, and though he wouldn’t be able to carry three people at once—along with himself—it could still prove useful.

Their headquarters was a rental belonging to one of the hunters. Though the person had it truly and properly secured, they still covered the doorway with salt and surrounded themselves with hex bags. Since this was the center of the whole operation, they couldn’t be too careful about a possible attack.

They’d already received half of the texts by the time the most important one came in. Rosa kept a checklist of them. Ten more. Five. Just one left. The boys farthest out must’ve hit traffic on the way there.

It was the group Bobby was with, and their target was a reservoir. They’d assigned him to that location entirely because it was the safest. Practically no security, easy to defend or flee. Bobby protested, saying he could be of far better use in a more important role. But just as the trio planned to sit this one out—Dean perhaps reluctantly so—they were unwilling to send their closest friend into anything that could get him hurt or killed. Their explanation, however, was that since Bobby was not familiar with Philly, they’d never be able to convince the other hunters that he should have a leadership role.

The final phone buzzed.

She checked it just to make sure it was a confirmation, and then, with a single tap of her finger, she told everyone the mission was a go.

All they could do was wait. Rosa stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the building below. Looking for any sign of a problem, or their success. Dean propped his feet up on the railing, and Sam paced over to Cas to kiss him on the top of his head. The angel looked up at him and smiled. “Sam, if this works—could you imagine? Demon’s in your house, right? Just use the sink sprayer.”

Sam chuckled. “I’m picturing you doing that, actually. ‘Do you mind? I’m in the middle of the dishes!’”

Behind them, Dean couldn’t help but smirk, too. It was such a mundane, domestic sort of conversation, and yet it was in the context of a theoretical demon breaking into their house. Their first thought wasn’t worry, but humor. Optimistic humor. And Dean found himself doing the same. Though Cas certainly didn’t own one and never would, he wore a pink, frilly apron in Dean’s imagination, and combated the generic demon attacker with utter disinterest. 

The moment of levity was cut short by another buzz from the table. Rosa picked up the offending device, opened it, and read the message’s contents to herself. “First one! Number six is finished,” she said more for her own benefit than theirs. That group’s line on her list received a large checkmark. Two more—numbers thirteen and twenty—came in almost simultaneously. Bobby’s group reported success moments later, and Rosa’s three companions collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

But then one of the phones rang. The one belonging to teams three and eighteen.

Rosa stared at it for a moment. They weren’t supposed to call unless there was something wrong. Her hesitation prompted Cas to reach for it, but she beat him to the punch, pressed the answer button, and brought the device to her ear. “What is it?” No names or courtesies.

There was a lot of noise in the background. Loud popping. Clattering of metal. Running. Heavy breathing. “Hello?! Is anyone there?” came over the line. She didn’t recognize the voice, but there were loads of people involved in this project.

“Who is this?” she tried to stay calm.

“I-uh, I’m Ral—I mean, this is—team three. I’m what’s left of-of team three.” More noise. Wind, a car door banging, and the engine starting. “Oh God, I think I’m the only one left.”

“What?! What do you mean?” she paused to put the thing on speakerphone so she wouldn’t have to explain to the others. “What happened?”

Frantic, “I was—I was following behind. I’m the backup, you know, for the blessing. And I-uh, we got in, and everything was fine—and then it filled with black smoke. The whole place. I’ve never, never seen anything like it. My whole family’s hunters, but I’m not, and they never said that could even happen! Not once! And then the normal workers… They started—oh Lord have mercy—they started attacking us!”

As the trio looked at each other with concern and fear on their faces, Rosa tried to calculate if this rung of the plan would weaken the whole thing beyond saving. She didn’t want to have to abort it, not after they’d come this far. “Get to a safe place,” she said eventually.

Before he could say much beyond a simple “Yeah,” she hung up.

“Well, what the hell do we do now?” came from Dean.

But as she opened her mouth to answer, another phone started ringing. By the time she picked it up, two more were going off. She answered the one closest to her, while Cas selected the device nearest him. Sam crossed the distance for the third.

The story was the same. All or most of the team members dead or severely injured. Black smoke—demons in their natural form—descending on the locations. Once in bodies, they’d kill anyone they could, disable the equipment, and/or find any other way to disrupt the plan. They showed no mercy and delighted in ripping the hunters and clerics to shreds. Despite massive attempts to prevent it, a few of the people on their side had even fallen victim to possession and attacked their own cohorts.

It was a nightmare.

Though the confirmations kept coming in, too, the deaths and failures were piling up. Twelve successful. Ten obliterated. Eight unaccounted-for. Even if every single one of those remaining eight, which included the main hub below, proved successful, that would still mean a third weren’t. That would still mean more than fifty dead. Even if the toll was worth it, having that large of a fail rate could mean the efforts wouldn’t be potent enough to work, or to work for long.

But she wasn’t sure it _was_ worth it. That many people? Sure, most of them were hunters, and she really hated hunters, but a lot of them didn’t even go after witches, and many were just clergy. Though they knew there would be risks, it was Rosa’s idea. Her plan. She sent them out there. And though she barely knew them, if at all, their lives were still her responsibility.

Rosa was answering the eleventh massacre report when there was a loud bang somewhere in the main complex. A cold, heavy feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.

Oh no.

She rushed to the edge of the balcony and looked down. At first, there was no sign of anything amiss. But then, white steam began to pour from one of the side doors. She looked for the hunters who were supposed to be stationed outside, but found every one of their positions abandoned. “No,” she breathed, dropping the phone. It cracked and turned off when it hit the balcony floor.

Cas reached her side just as they heard a second noise—a piercing, bellowing roar.

Created by an explosion at the back of the facility.

It was small enough to leave much of the place intact, but it held enough power to shatter windows in all the nearby buildings, and knock the angel and Rosa off of their feet.

She moaned. Her ears rang, and her head pounded. And worse than anything that hurt or ached was the painful realization. This was it. They’d failed. The small victories would not be able to compensate for how much they’d lost, and now that the demons knew their game, there could be no way to try a second time. The killings could number in the sixties or higher. Maybe even a hundred. All for nothing.

But while Rosa wallowed in self-pity and personal defeat, a far more emotional scene played out next to her. She’d sustained some minor cuts from the glass, but the angel wasn’t so lucky. As he slowly recovered from a daze caused by impacting with the ground, Cas discovered to his horror a piece of window glass several inches long protruding from his chest.

He tried to breathe in, but found he couldn’t. Not really. It was more of a painful wheeze, which turned into a weak cough as blood poured into his lungs. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t cry out.

Gasping for air, he looked around frantically. The Winchesters had taken cover inside the apartment, and Rosa was in her own world a few feet away. As far as he could tell, no one even knew he was injured. And he couldn’t signal them. Couldn’t tell them.

That he was dying.

Cas coughed more heavily. Blood filled his mouth and sprayed into the air. With strength that was abandoning him quickly, he rolled onto his side and started kicking the metal table against the concrete railing as hard as he could.

He was starting to black out when Dean rushed to his side. “Oh, God. Cas!” He carefully lifted his partner’s head up off the glass-covered floor. “Cas, hold on, buddy. Sammy! Get your ass over here! Sam, I mean it! Hurry! It’s bad. Really fucking bad! Cas, stay with me, man. Stay with me. Sammy!”

The healer sprinted over, skidding on the debris. When he reached their angel, his face contorted into an expression of terror and shock. Dean wasn’t wrong. Cas was minutes away from death. His lips were turning blue, and he was paler than Sam’d ever seen. No oxygen was getting to his brain, or the rest of his body for that matter, and he was bleeding out.

Internally, the story was just as bad. Somehow, the shard had landed almost perfectly between two of Cas’s ribs, which while keeping it basically in one piece meant that it went a lot deeper. Sam could sense massive damage to the right lung and the surrounding tissues. Cas could die any second. Though he could probably hold on a little bit longer than a human—since he didn’t have a soul to get collected by a reaper—Sam didn’t want to tempt it.

Pushing him onto his back again, the healer placed one hand delicately on Cas’s chest and started pumping energy into him as fast as he could make it.

But in order for him to survive, the glass would have to be removed—right away. It was going to hurt. Sam tried to numb the area a little—a newer technique Cas himself had taught him. Grasping the offending shard, Sam looked him in the eyes. “I have to take this out now, so you can breathe.”

Cas bit his lip, but nodded.

Silently, Sam counted to three and yanked on it as fast as he could without letting it break. The angel tried to cry out, but he only managed to cough. His pain was so intense. Sam could hardly stand it. Blood dripped from his companion’s lips just as it gushed from the wound. Trying not to panic at the sight of it, Sam pressed both hands over the injury and resumed combating the damage with healing power.

A wound this severe was no easy job, and neither was a patient this close to death. But he reminded himself that he’d healed worse before, and after a full day’s work. Just ‘cause it was Cas—just ‘cause it was someone he loved—it didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. He had to have confidence.

It paid off.

The gash closed beneath his fingers, and the lung tissue mended. He didn’t stop until he was confident Cas’s heart could take the extra strain. His first unobstructed breath was one of the best things Sam ever heard.

Both Winchesters did not spare any kindness toward him. As Dean carefully lifted Cas’s head the rest of the way up onto his thigh, Sam caressed the angel’s face and wiped some of the blood away with his sleeve. With his own hands stained red, the act probably added more than it removed, but Cas appreciated the gesture. He reached up for Sam and gripped his collar. “That was a close one.”

Fuck yes, it was, Dean thought. They could’ve lost him.

“All that matters is you’re okay, Cas.” Sam sat back, feeling slightly dizzy. It wouldn’t last for long. He’d simply done the job too fast out of worry. Any other patient, and he would have taken his time. But this was their Cas—their angel—and if he died, they’d never see him again.

The dire truth of the situation was obvious on Dean’s face. He looked like someone punched him hard in the gut. Even now, with Cas recovering visibly with every passing minute, his expression didn’t change. And his emotional state was one of fear and pain. It worried Sam. He knew what Dean was thinking—about how easy they could’ve watched Cas expire, even with Sam steps away. About what it meant if Cas was allowed to die.

And what Dean was feeling, too.

Powerless.

Desperate.

Sam couldn’t help but wonder how much.

Rosa had caught the tail end of their interaction. But having nothing at her disposal to help, she simply watched at a distance. With the angel on the mend, however, and her plan lying in tatters on the street below, she thought it appropriate to break into their love fest with a reality check. “If the cops aren’t here already, we should probably go down and find the archbishop.”

“You think he survived that?” Dean was skeptical, considering Cas’s run-in with a piece of urban shrapnel.

She clenched her jaw. “I doubt many did. But we should check, don’t you think? And we should probably remove him, either way. Along with anybody still breathing.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that. If there were any people they could save, they had an obligation to do so. He nodded. Looking down at Cas, “Hey, think you could stand? Limp on over to one of the couches inside or something? Me, Sam, and the Howitzer gotta head down to look for survivors.” Then, as an afterthought, “Unless you think you’re up to comin’ along, too.” As much as he didn’t want Cas within twenty miles of any kind of danger, he’d promised to include the angel on anything he and Sam did.

To his relief, Cas shook his head. “Couch sounds great, actually.”

Both Winchesters helped him up and walked him slowly inside. Though his wounds were healed, he would be weak for some time as his body replaced the lost blood.

Once he was comfy and situated on an ugly orange-ish sofa, Sam gave him a long kiss. While he may not have been as shaken by the injury as his soulmate, it was still way too close for comfort, and he was so happy that he’d been able to save him.

He could taste metallic blood on his lips, but he tried to ignore it.

Rosa waited impatiently. The moment they were finished, she burst through the door and started sprinting down a back stairway. The other two kept pace with her until all three were down in the chaos of the street.


	15. Streets of Philadelphia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

People were already gathering to gawk at the damaged buildings, and they could hear ambulance sirens in the distance.

There were a lot of witnesses, with more on the way. And Sam and Dean were no longer identity-less drifters. They had social security numbers—granted, not the ones they were born with—a home address, and all sorts of other ways to track them down. Hell, the Impala had a legitimate Pennsylvania license plate now, and, along with Cas, they had real passports just in case. Their female colleague lived a little more off the grid, but she wasn’t in a hurry to get stopped by police or investigated in any way.

And she was currently living with some very easy to ID people.

So, before taking a single step toward the destruction, she set about trying to make them a little less recognizable. First, she hurriedly removed the rubber band that tied back her hair. Anything that could help hide her face would be a plus. In one fluid motion, she descended on Sam, grabbed as much of his hair as she could reach, and gave him a haphazard ponytail. He grunted, but didn’t object.

Next, Rosa took off her zipper-down, hooded sweatshirt and handed it over to Dean. “Put this on,” she ordered. “Cover your head.”

He looked at it skeptically. Not only was it cut and designed for a woman, but he couldn’t imagine it was large enough.

But they were out of time. “Hurry, dipshit. People are dying. And you,” she turned to Sam, “put your hands in your fucking pockets. Unless you don’t think being covered in blood is gonna raise suspicions.”

The two complied, less because of her commanding tone and more because her ideas were essentially good ones. While most of the dead would not leave much for authorities to go off of, some would surely yield results. A few were actually pillars of their communities and owned local businesses. And they hung out in circles that had a knack for ending up at the trio’s doorstep. If and when police stopped by to question them, it would certainly help if they weren’t spotted at ground zero.

Dean wriggled himself into her jacket and brought the hood down as far as he could while still being able to see. His arms barely fit inside the thing, and it made moving difficult, but he had no intention of whining about it. There were more important matters at hand.

They strode quickly past the crowds and through an opening in the perimeter fence created by the explosion. Ducking inside, they found nothing but destruction. Broken pipes, damaged and scorched walls—and dead bodies. Wherever possible, they made mental notes of who had died. But it wasn’t really necessary. It didn’t look like there were any still-living members of this team. And the fact that they hadn’t received a frantic phone call only helped confirm that.

Hurrying deeper inside the facility, the three began calling out the archbishop’s name in low voices.

Footsteps.

All three of them heard it, but only Dean reacted in time. He was already on-edge because of Cas. He would’ve reacted to any noise. But a scared and frantic clergyman wouldn’t approach them that fast. And neither would a hunter. So, he struck out with a switchblade he kept in his front pocket—and lodged it firmly in the neck of a demon.

Regular knifes were about as effective on demons as a papercut on a grizzly bear.

But it did catch the creature by surprise, which gave Rosa enough time to unsheathe her much more useful blade.

She’d spared no time explaining its origins or use to the Winchesters since meeting them, nor did she let them touch or examine it closely. But it was the most important thing she owned, and it was her most prized possession.

About twice as old as the city of Philadelphia, it relied on two basic principles to operate efficiently—neither of which had much to do with being an expert swordswoman. Though she wasn’t a novice at that, either. Firstly, it had been engraved with a powerful warding spell. It purportedly worked on anything less than human and activated with a thought from the wielder. She was skeptical of its reach, but it worked wonderfully on demons and creepy crawlies, which was exactly what they required in this moment.

Secondly, the metal itself was of a special quality. It allowed Rosa to utilize her most powerful skill without weakening or breaking. The skill, on which she also deliberately failed to elaborate, was moving things. Heat and rising temperatures are generated by atoms and molecules moving faster. Even in seemingly solid objects. She found it surprisingly easy to move the tiny particles in the sword’s blade in order to heat it up. Attempting to do so with other objects generally fatigued her. But it was like the sword wanted to be a higher temperature when she needed it to be.

Her special skill set was not the result of any spell, though if asked, she would lie and say it was. She could just do it. From a young age, it just sort of started happening. Slowly at first, and then with practice, it got stronger. While she was a witch, as well—parlaying favors and performing rituals—her ability to move objects with her head was something else entirely. And she had no idea why she could do it. No one else in her family could, and no other strange attributes presented themselves.

Research proved pointless. As far as Rosa could tell, she was just, well, special—something that certainly didn’t help her inflated ego. But for fear of the possibility that she was something other than a human and didn’t know it, she kept this fact to herself. Being a witch was enough to put a target on her back. Having an admitted extra ability could be bad for her health.

She’d found the weapon through word of mouth during her late teenage years. A voodoo priestess in New Orleans first mentioned its existence to her when she went into a store seeking spellbooks and, after a large cash payment, the woman was persuaded to sketch what it looked like. Then, Rosa spent the better part of a year searching museums and special collections and estate sales online. It eventually turned up at a giant weapons convention in Virginia, whereupon she paid for it with money she’d stolen from the various attendants.

Rosa loved it more than any currently living person. And she relied on it more often. The sword had gotten her out of dozens of sticky situations, and she’d killed many creatures—and a few hunters—with it. Her only regret was that she hadn’t had it when she was younger and defenseless, but what was the use in dwelling on it?

There was a certain satisfaction that came from slicing into something that wanted to hurt you. She really liked it. And this situation was no different. Her well-crafted and agonizingly detailed plan was ruined. And these fuckers were responsible. And they’d killed more than a few people who probably didn’t deserve it.

It was with a grin fixed on her face that she dispatched the closest demon. Cutting straight down the center of its head, she didn’t pull the blade back until she’d dragged it through the heart. The person being possessed would surely die—collateral damage she spent very little time caring about—but so would the monster itself, thanks to the magic symbols. She literally cut the demon in half, and it would not recover.

In the dark, her weapon glowed red hot as she swiveled on one foot and expertly plunged it into the gut of a second would-be attacker. She jerked the blade up as far as it would go and then off to the side until it dislodged. The creature and its host dropped to the floor in a crumpled mess of burned flesh and blood.

A third demon quickly lost its head, and a forth received three swift stabs to the chest and abdomen.

The next figure to appear in her sights nearly lost an arm as she pulled the sword back just in time to avoid killing him. It was the archbishop, who had locked himself in a supply closet when the killings began. She sneered at him in the dark and noted with disinterest that he had a fairly wicked-looking gash on his forehead.

His eyes grew big as he looked first at the gore and carnage and then at her strange magic weapon. “What in Heaven’s name…” his voice trailed off.

“The amount of things in this world you don’t understand, Padre, could fill up the whole city.” She unfocused, and her weapon began to cool down. “It’s time to go.”

A spell she’d long since performed on herself—despite not even having all the right herbs—easily allowed for telling whether a person had a demon inside them or not. It let her see just a little bit beneath the surface, though it seemed to be completely useless when it came to angels and angelic energy. So, she didn’t have to test the archbishop to know he was just a man. But since she spoke nothing of this to anyone—apart from an offhand comment when she first met the Winchesters about how ugly demons were—Sam still doused the man in holy water to be sure.

The archbishop shot the healer a look of dissatisfaction, but said nothing. Moments later, Sam fixed the man’s injury.

She sheathed the sword as they left the building through a side door utilized primarily by staff for smoke breaks. Rosa had the layout of this particular location memorized, thanks to its importance in her now-destroyed plan. This was an advantage they had, not only over any demons that might remain, but also over the first responders—police officers, firefighters, and paramedics—who were arriving at the scene. They would use the main entrances for easy access and focus primarily on the most damaged areas.

The four didn’t stop until they were several blocks away from the facility. The archbishop was in his late fifties, and he certainly wasn’t in any kind of shape for the type of exercise the other three were prepared to undertake in order to escape.

Instead, they would have to be clever. Dean spotted a nondescript beige sedan, and his less than legal life as a hunter kicked in. He set about getting the door unlocked, and soon after, he began hot-wiring it. When the engine started, he got out and motioned toward the vehicle. “This should get you back to the archdiocese, man. But I would ditch it before you get there, wipe down the steering wheel and anything you touch, and then hoof it the rest of the way.”

“I’m on my own? What if one of those things…?!”

“You’re not a target,” Dean said simply. “Just get outta here, and don’t tell anybody where you were.”

“This car belongs to someone who needs it,” he protested.

Dean rolled his eyes. “And when they find it unharmed at the side of the road, I’m sure it’ll be returned.” He snorted. “Trust me, you’re a lot safer on your own than you are with us.” They could probably send Rosa with him, but out in the open, they needed her for their own protection. And they had to double back for Cas, which would be insanely difficult with an untrained liability like the priest in tow.

Reluctant, the archbishop slowly dropped himself into the driver’s seat. “I did not perform last rites on any of them,” he said with genuine regret. “And I did not finish your ritual. I assume all is lost for what you were hoping to accomplish?”

“That and probably more,” Rosa replied despondently. Her plan was their best shot, and it didn’t work.

Sam closed the car door and patted the cleric on the shoulder. “We’ll figure something else out. Thanks for your help, Father.”

As he drove off, Dean removed Rosa’s jacket and handed it back to her. They waited until the crowds were so thick with people that their presence wouldn’t be strange before attempting to retrieve the angel.

He was very glad to see them unharmed. Rested and by all accounts almost fully recovered, Cas jumped up from the couch and embraced Dean, who was the first one through the door. He held onto him for longer than a usual hug and only stopped so as not to make Sam feel left out. Surveying them both, he tried not to smile too much. “How’d it go?”

“Not well,” Dean answered first.

“Understatement of the century,” Rosa growled. She ran a hand through her hair to bring some life back into the curls. “We’re fucked. The whole thing’s completely fucked.”

Sam took a different approach. “It’s bad, but we got the archbishop out, and we’ll just—we’ll just have to find something else.”

Dean and Cas looked over at him with nearly identical expressions. While they did not necessarily share it, they loved and valued Sam’s unrelenting optimism. Hell, even if Sam didn’t believe it himself, they were grateful he chose to take that stance, to try and give hope to the people he was with. It was so incredibly endearing. And they both needed it in that moment.

It had no effect on Rosa. To her, his optimism was simple naivety. It was unfounded. Perhaps, they were used to winning, eventually, and so he truly believed things would work out. But in her experience, more often than not, bad things prevailed over good. Fairness existed only in the minds of people who tried to create it. The universe didn’t care if the right-fighters and the good guys came out on top. Things swung in favor of whoever or whatever was strongest, and that was that.

Cas grabbed Sam by the hips and pulled him close. “We’ll find something else,” he agreed.

Smiling slightly, Sam kissed the side of the angel’s head.

“We should leave,” Rosa insisted with one hand on the door knob. The apartment was well-fortified, but not perfectly, and not against police officers. Moreover, though she was in no hurry to begin, they would need to try and get a good idea of how many people actually died and help in any way possible with telling their families—if they had families.

Injured folks would likely be showing up at their door soon, too. And it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think that some of the survivors might be pissed off at them for how things went. Damage control on this could conceivably last for months, and all the while, they’d still have the problem of an army of demons descending on their city.

There was so much to consider and navigate about this—Rosa could feel a tension headache coming on.

The others agreed, and with as much haste as they could safely manage, the group headed down to a nearby building’s parking garage, where the Impala awaited them.

***

Eighty two. By the end of the next day, they had a number. Eighty two dead. Rosa was personally responsible for the deaths of eighty two people. Almost half of the people involved. And there were dozens more injured. Sam worked though the night and much of the day, until it was too dangerous to keep healing. He’d passed out upstairs hours ago. The remaining wounded hunters would have to come back later if they wanted to expedite their recoveries.

Since his soulmate retired, Dean spent much of the time in the kitchen with Bobby, drinking and discussing what, if anything, could’ve been done to prevent the slaughter of their hunter brethren.

Rosa kept away. She was too angry to provide anything of value. All she wanted to do was go out and kill every last one of the bastards responsible for ruining her plan—and making her look like a failure in the process—along with, you know, killing just short of a hundred people. She wanted their heads. She wanted to personally make all of them hurt. And she wanted to do it right now.

But her housemates could easily blame her for this, though they hadn’t shown any signs of it so far. She thought with disdain that it was possibly because they’d willingly gone along with it and thus would also have to blame themselves, at least partially. But maybe not. She really didn’t understand the trio’s motivations for most of what they did. Why quit hunting if you’re good at it? Why get into such a weird, twisted romantic thing when each of them were easily attractive enough to have something more normal?

It didn’t make much sense to her.

Regardless, on the off-chance that some of the rage and sadness associated with the failure might end up falling squarely on her head, Rosa kept her distance. When she wasn’t brooding, she focused on the aftermath.

The nearly simultaneous explosions were immediately considered an act of domestic terrorism by pretty much every authoritative body that could make such a decision. As such, cops and officials from half a dozen different agencies swarmed the city. The unidentifiable dead were written off as part of the plot, while the ones with names and lives attached were being investigated. Some of the possessed—many of which probably still were—were hailed as heroes for fighting off their attackers. They did interviews on TV. They feigned being shaken up and “just doing the right thing.” They pretended to be humble.

Luckily, the number of dead “terrorists” was difficult to ignore or write off, and local news agencies—along with some national ones—weren’t completely buying the official story. Already, they had on “experts,” talking about if it could’ve been a cult or if this was some sort of government operation gone awry.

There was enough doubt in public opinion to make things messy for the cops and FBI agents, and to slow them down a little. They couldn’t get warrants as quickly, and they didn’t quite have the blank check usually afforded to them during times of terror.

Which was fortunate for the grieving families left behind. A day and a half since the mission, and most of them were already gone. Split. Scattered to the wind. Hunters at heart, they knew how to disappear if they had to, and if they could be tied to this at all, they most certainly couldn’t stay in Philadelphia.

And it wasn’t safe, anyway.

So, they left. Abandoned their homes, their day jobs, and their communities. Pulled their children out of school. And took only whatever they could fit into their vehicles.

Almost like gypsies.

They wouldn’t be able to bury their loved ones. They probably wouldn’t mourn properly. In an attempt to defend the lives they built here, they lost everything.

And that infuriated her, too. She wasn’t completely apathetic to their plight. Though coming out on the losing end made her blood boil, knowing that kids and families and the lot would suffer because of this—it enraged her. Not upset, or sad. Enraged. And all she wanted to do was take it out on those smug pieces of shit who ruined her plan and destroyed all those lives.

She sat in the main room on a stiff, wooden chair, glaring at the television. They’d moved the flatscreen downstairs so that the injured hunters could watch. Though they were all gone now, no one had bothered hauling it back up to the den.

The twenty four-hour news channel had on some loon, who was talking about how they’d found all these religious implements on the dead bodies, and what that could possibly mean. He seemed to lean toward it being some sort of mass suicide pact, but he said it didn’t really fit the standard model.

Whatever that was.

When the angel walked in to watch, she didn’t immediately acknowledge him. He rarely talked to her, especially when she tried to press him for information. But, having no one else to rant to, Rosa thought she might have a shot this time. “Don’t you just want to go out and start bagging the fuckers who did this?” she remarked without taking her eyes off the TV.

“Me, personally?” Her question surprised him. “Huh. Well, there’s a lot of them, and I’d probably end up being the one in the bag, so no.”

“You think they’re that hard to kill?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her boasting. “I’ve heard all about your combat prowess and that weapon.” He pointed. She’d set the sword on Sam’s desk, next to the TV.

With demons biting at their heels and now the threat of a potential SWAT team raid, Rosa refused to go anywhere without it. She even took it with her to the bathroom and hung it on the door. In the event of an attack, she would fight her way out. Like always.

“And I’d love to help out if I could, but I’m rusty. And I know I’m the weakest person in this house,” he continued, his expression turning to disappointment at himself for a brief instant. “In another time, I easily killed demons and all sorts of other things. But going after them on my own now would be suicide. I wouldn’t even make a dent in them. I just can’t imagine any good would come from that.”

As she soaked that in, Cas pulled up a chair. He really didn’t like the witch, but he understood that she was in a bad place—since she’d spent weeks obsessing over this plan, only to watch it be utterly destroyed, with so many of the people involved killed. He didn’t feel all that comfortable drinking with Dean and Bobby, anyway, nor was he tired enough to try and nap with Sam.

“But you were a fighter, right? A warrior?”

He laughed again. She valued the concept, the idea that he’d lived a life as a soldier. He doubted very much that she could see how hollow it’d been, how meaningless and cold. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what angels do.”

“What was the last thing you fought? Demons? Or was it hunters?” With Cas finally talking, Rosa was prepared to interrogate him—gently—for as long as he allowed it.

Cas spun toward her in his chair and waited until she returned his gaze before speaking. “Other angels.”

“What?”

He gave an uneasy smile out of discomfort. “The price of being in an army is that going AWOL is not generally tolerated.”

“So, you killed your own kind?”

“Well, they were trying to kill me. I didn’t have much choice. And at the time, I was the best equipped to stop them.” He sat back in the chair. “Now, I’m happy to leave the demon killing to you and the hunters. People who actually know what they’re doing and want to do it.”

She scoffed. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we didn’t do very well.”

“This time. But everyone did the best they could, and if it’d been two hundred of me, there’d be two hundred dead, not eighty.” Cracking the knuckles in his left hand absently, he turned his attention back to the television. “If it helps, demons are a lot easier to kill than angels, and they’re not your family.”

Rosa couldn’t help but be astounded at that last part. Family. He considered all angels his family. Not a race or a species. And yet, as far as she could tell, he’d done literally everything in his power to get away from them and be here. With the Winchesters. That kind of devotion was alien to her, and it was so strong, it made her feel uncomfortable. She really didn’t understand it. She wasn’t sure she could.

Rather than try, she decided to take the conversation in a different direction. “How do you kill them? Shards of glass?”

Funny. “I’m a lot easier to harm than most of my brothers.”

“Because of giving your abilities away?” She wanted very much to ask exactly how he’d accomplished that, but this line of questioning might be even more useful.

“Yeah.”

“So, how do you kill a full angel? In case I ever meet one.”

“I would hope you don’t, for your sake.” Even with her spells and that blade, she would be no match for even the weakest foot soldiers in angel garrisons. “But if you were somehow strong enough, there’s a special kind of sword that’ll do it. It’s actually the sword angels use in battle, and every one carried is just strong enough to kill the soldier who wields it. But most humans would never even get close enough to use one. Nevermind actually finding and obtaining one.” His was hidden in a secret compartment in Dean’s workbench, and he had no intention of telling her there was one in the house.

Rosa reached for he own sword and raised it for Cas to see. “What about this? Would it work?”

“No.”

He offered up no further explanation. There was nothing about that weapon that could ward off or hurt an angel—at least a whole and powerful one—and it was very likely that the person or creature that made it didn’t even know angels existed. Though Rosa seemed incredibly confident in the sword’s power, he knew without a doubt that it would be completely ineffective against an angel.

“What else, then?”

Sighing, “Some creatures—demigods and higher angels mostly—can actually destroy an angel with raw power and force. I’ve—seen it done.” And did it. “And, uh, you can engulf one in holy fire.”

“Right. Holy fire. As in, like holy water.”

“Not quite. Normal flame, applied to special holy oil. Very rare. You can also trap an angel in a ring of it if you’re lucky, and stupid enough to try.” Not even the Winchesters had attempted it. And as hunters, they were as reckless as they were adept. “Again, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

She smiled but suppressed it before Cas saw. “I wouldn’t even know how to meet one.”

“There are spells for some of us, but I don’t know them.” Anymore. He’d forgotten the specifics long ago. And even if he hadn’t, he sure as hell wouldn’t tell her. The last thing they needed was to try and fight angels on top of everything else. “It’s easier if you know their names, but—”

“Such as?”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. “Such as ‘Castiel.’”

Rosa groaned. “What, you’re not gonna tell me any of your pals’ names?”

“I don’t have any.” He stood up abruptly. “Which is exactly why. You think demons having some fun are hard? Wait until you meet an angel who’s pissed off. A real one.”

With that, he’d had quite enough of their little chat, and decided the comatose healer would make for better conversation.


	16. Calling All Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

It was the perfect thing to keep her mind off of the demons. Whether or not he intended to, Cas had given Rosa a truckload of information to work off of. And by and large, she was left to her own devices to explore it.

She took to the internet, searching for everything from holy oil to angel names. She came up with millions of possible avenues, and yet it all seemed very unreliable. Finding the oil wasn’t hard at all. Every charlatan in every corner of the earth was selling vials of the stuff off of their poorly constructed websites, designed circa 1998. Meanwhile, there were only three named angels in the Bible. Raphael, Gabriel, and Michael. Castiel, unsurprisingly, made no appearance. And somehow, she doubted any of his friends did, either. For all she knew, the three listed didn’t even exist.

As for summoning them? No dice. All people talked about in forums or on their blogs or whatever was prayer. Pray to your guardian angel. Pray for favors. Pray your little heart out, and the angels will watch over you. But she didn’t need prayer. She needed a spell. And nobody seemed to know anything about one that could get her in touch with a heavenly being.

So, she gave up on surfing the web and instead began searching their house. For anything. Any books or diaries. Any spells or implements. She didn’t pause to ask for them. She’d asked at least ten times already, and the Winchesters insisted they didn’t have any accurate books on angels. But now they weren’t watching her so closely. They weren’t obsessing about her location. They had bigger problems.

Rosa had scoured the entire house before she even considered breaking into Dean’s workroom—again. If he caught her there, after her last excursion, he’d flip out. And her time at the house would likely be cut very short.

But she had to know if they were hiding anything about angels, and she couldn’t think of a more likely candidate than Dean’s mancave.

Getting away from the others wasn’t too difficult. They didn’t actively try to include her on anything, and Cas was already back to ignoring her. Sam still seemed under the weather, even though three more days had passed, so both Dean and the angel were caring for him in between entertaining Bobby, who acted as a messenger between the house and various hunter hideouts. With Bobby out on another errand and the three upstairs, Rosa had no problem getting to the door—which Dean hadn’t latched properly.

It probably had something to do with all the carefully applied tape she put on it a few hours before, when he’d headed downstairs to work. She was still genuinely surprised he didn’t notice. But then, he hadn’t locked it at all the first time, and in the chaos and stress of their current predicament, the retired hunter had a lot on his mind.

She could’ve used her power on the lock, but it’d been drained from firing up her sword, and there was a level of accomplishment from gaining access this way.

Closing the door behind her, Rosa crept down the wooden stairs as quietly as possible and began picking through the clutter.

Dean kept boxes of old gun parts and other weaponry, empty jugs for holy water, and all sorts of antiques and machinery, along with anything else he deemed potentially useful. But while it seemed pretty pointless, and there were no labels, it wasn’t disorderly. Every box and drawer only contained, at most, three types of similar objects. The more important an object was, the cleaner and more carefully stored it was kept.

In fact, as she cautiously rifled through the things, far less hurried this time around, Rosa found herself impressed. Dean didn’t strike her as the neat and tidy type—more like a self-hating, emotionally unstable drunk—but his little alcove was immaculate. And some of his inventions were actually pretty innovative and technical. For instance, he’d been constructing a device that, if he got it to work, would be able to detect sulfur in the air. It might even work on amounts too small to smell. The components were laid out on a cloth on the table, next to a prototype. It looked like he was almost finished with it.

She could see that coming in handy with so many demons running around.

But it wasn’t what she needed. Pushing a stool out of the way, she headed for a series of burgundy-painted metal cabinets. They would make some noise when she looked inside, no doubt about it. But she’d already searched everywhere else. Slowly, she turned the handle on the closest one, opened the door, and peered inside.

There were mostly store-bought supplies—flashlights, rope, batteries, etc.—packed into the shelves. Things that hunters looking for Dean’s special weapons might also be willing to buy if they were running low. According to Sam, they actually made quite a bit of money that way.

Sighing, she moved on to the second.

This one was a lot more interesting. There were trinkets and rosaries and more than a few magic objects. If she didn’t value her current living arrangement, she might have pocketed some of the items for future spells. But nothing immediately screamed “angels were here.” As she was shutting the doors, however, her eyes fell on the glint of something liquid inside a clay vase.

Huh.

The pitcher-like container was open, leaving the liquid exposed to fresh air. She thought it strange that if it contained something important, they wouldn’t keep the stuff in jars or something more secure. Since it was on the bottom shelf, she had to crouch down to take a closer look.

Lining the edges was text in not one but three different languages. Something that looked like Hebrew, some kind of old language she only sort of recognized, and one that may as well have been from another planet. She couldn’t read any of it, but if the top language really was Hebrew, then perhaps this was a relic from Israel?

She couldn’t be sure.

After staring at it for a moment, she bent down further and dipped her nose close to the edge. It smelled faintly of herbs and flowers. She couldn’t detect anything immediately deadly about it, but in a basement full of weapons, it could be anything.

But there was also a healer in the house, and in a worst case scenario, he could probably heal a minor burn or poisoning. She was willing to take the chance. With two fingers, Rosa carefully touched the surface of the liquid before quickly pulling them back. Nothing burned or hurt her. And it wasn’t water or any kind of potion. It was thick and oily, and all at once, she had a pretty good idea of what it might be.

Jackpot.

She wiped her fingers off on the concrete floor and grabbed a pack of matches from Dean’s desk. Striking one, she carefully brought it to the oil.

It lit up with brilliant yellow-orange fire.

And it didn’t go out or burn down. It just stayed lit. She watched it for several minutes to be sure—well past the time any normal lamp fluid or other flammable liquid would burn. So, this had to be what she was looking for. There could be no other explanation. This was holy oil. And she’d just made holy fire.

After a moment to ponder the situation, she decided to stamp it out with the bottom of her boot. It worked without incident. Something so powerful against angels had very little effect on her. It may as well have been nothing more than candle flame.

She closed the cabinet carefully, double-checked that the flame was out, and headed for the stairway. Now that she knew where they kept it, Rosa had no doubt she could back for the prize when and if she had an angel to target. She cautiously tiptoed back upstairs and peeled off the tape on the door before letting it lock behind her.

***

It was another day or so before Rosa’s search made any more progress. And it happened entirely by accident. Bobby left late that morning to return to his wife, and the trio spent much of the afternoon trying to come up with a new plan to protect their city and the hunters living in it. She sat in the next room, half-listening to another news story, when the conversation took a surprising turn.

“You know, there’s, uh, there’s one other thing we could do,” Cas spoke up for the first time in the conversation. His voice could be easily heard, despite the distance.

“Like what?” Dean was skeptical.

“Umm, well, like Balthazar.”

Baltha-what? Balthazar? Where had she heard that name before…?

“You mean the sonuva bitch who—”

“—who made it so we could be together,” Cas corrected Dean quickly. Rosa turned down the TV’s volume and leaned a little toward them.

Sam cut in. His voice was weak and shaky, but he had no problem saying what he needed to say. “Dude, I dunno. I mean, maybe if it looks like we don’t have any more choices, but I don’t think we want him back in our lives right now. Who knows if he’s still in cahoots with that demigod or if the guys upstairs are after him. Even if he can and would help us, we might be inviting a whole lot of extra trouble we don’t need and can’t fight.”

“And we can’t protect the house from them, remember?” Dean was irritated, but Rosa got the impression that it wasn’t necessarily directed at Cas. The situation itself was what bothered him.

So, Balthazar was an angel who had something to do with how Cas gave his abilities to the Winchesters. And angels in general—were dangerous? The idea was hard for her to grasp. Though Cas had explained that they were soldiers, he certainly didn’t seem like much of one. And Rosa grew up with the idea of guardian angels watching over children, looking out for them. Sweet creatures with wings and white robes seated at God’s feet or manning the gates to Heaven. Trumpets, halos, clouds. But by the way they talked, it was like the beings were just another type of creature. And they were potentially violent and treacherous.

She filed the revelations away for later use.

There was a more important piece of information in Dean’s question. Could it be that there were no ways to protect against angels apart from trapping them? Unlikely, she thought. They _had_ an angel. A seemingly underpowered one that actually _wanted_ to be like a weakling human, but still. As far as she could tell, he had all the knowledge and age of an angel. Surely, Castiel knew how to ward off his own kind.

“We could put some protections on,” Cas returned. “Just enough.”

“No way! I can’t sleep with that stuff all over the place.”

The method would actually hurt Dean? Because of the ability Cas gave him? God, there was so much about these people Rosa didn’t understand. How could angel protections work against a human but not an angel? Did they only work against specific abilities? And why would you even need protections against angels?

But what did Cas say? He tried to leave the angel army and then had to fight them. Maybe her whole idea of what angels were was wrong. Maybe they didn’t protect like a parent is supposed to. Maybe they protected in the same way that militaries did. In olden times, the men who wrote things down may not have seen much difference.

“I could hide on the second floor for like a couple of hours,” Dean continued. “No big deal. But long term? No. Hell no, man. I’d rather wipe my ass with sandpaper.”

Rosa could have gone without that visual.

She heard footsteps, and Cas’s voice became more distant. She guessed he was pacing into the dining room. Craning her head to hear, it took a moment for Rosa to make out his words again. “…to rule it out. Bal could give us advice even if he won’t help us directly, or we don’t want him to. Maybe he’d even loan us one of the divine weapons to use against them.”

Divine weapons. Right. Of course. A divine militia would need plenty of divine weapons.

“Cas, I don’t think so.” Sam’s tone was gentle but resolute. “At least not until we run out of other options.”

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Dean agreed. “But yeah, I don’t think we need that joker around quite yet.”

The angel gave in. “Okay, yeah.” It seemed to Rosa that Cas didn’t think the issue was worth fighting over. After the big blow up when she first arrived, each of the three tended to avoid arguing, at least around her, when possible. Someone would always back down.

But Rosa couldn’t care less about all that. She had a very valuable piece of information. A name. A real name of another angel. In her experience, knowing the name of a creature could get you a long way in terms of summoning it.

Sometimes, a name was all that was needed. Though Cas’d indicated that there were summoning spells for angels, she had a sneaking suspicion that this basic premise could still be the case here. No member of the trio wielded magic. They had a few tricks up their sleeves, but conjuring wasn’t really in their repertoire. And yet, they seemed confident they would be able to reach this Balthazar—a name that sounded _really_ familiar—and get him to meet with them. It even seemed like they knew him well, with Cas possibly counting him as a friend or acquaintance.

And how might one go about calling an angel? She could think of only one thing that made sense. And the religious fanatics she’d seen all over the internet had already given her the answer.

Praying.

Rosa waited until after the three finished a more jovial late lunch. Sam indicated that he wanted to have some fun—the details of which Rosa tried desperately to avoid hearing—with Cas, and the two headed upstairs. Dean went down to the basement again to put the finishing touches on his sulfur sensor. He vowed to be up in a few minutes to join in. As the door was about to shut, she dove for it and grabbed the edge with the tips of her fingers.

She kept a roll of clear, scotch tape on her now at all times for moments exactly like this. And, having done it once before, she now mastered applying the stuff quickly and efficiently to the latch.

They really weren’t as careful with their things as they thought.

True to his word, Dean reemerged ten minutes later and gave the witch a big wink, along with a clicking sound. He was beginning to get a thrill from seeing how uncomfortable his sex life made her. Instead of just being mortified. Strutting across the room, he ascended the stairs and was gone.

She didn’t wait a second longer. Practically sprinting, Rosa darted downstairs, whipped open the cabinet, and picked up the jug. With it pressed against her chest, she ran back up to the ground level. The tape had to stay on the door in case it didn’t work and she had to return it without her housemates noticing it was missing.

By now, she knew that the back exit didn’t squeak or even really rattle the house if opened gently. She was certain she could get outside without detection. Especially with the three engaged in their own little orgy. And she did, stepping so quietly even she couldn’t hear it.

Regardless, she didn’t let out a breath until she was in their tiny parking lot.

There, she began carefully pouring the oil out—just enough to make a continuous, uninterrupted line. Tiny rocks were kicked away, and she stomped some dirt down with her shoe. She had to be meticulous. There was enough in the vase to do the entire parking lot, but she didn’t want to risk lighting her hosts’ prized Chevy on fire, and she needed to save some of the oil in case she had to try and kill the angel if and when it arrived.

When she finally finished, Rosa took a seat on the bottommost step. Closing her eyes, she interlaced her fingers and brought them to her lips. “Balthazar? Balthazar, are you there? I need your help. Balthazar, you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Castiel’s. Of Cas. Balthazar.” She tried to say his name as much as she could and to sound frantic. “He’s in big trouble, Balthazar. He’s gonna be hurt. We need your help. Please, Bal, could you help us? Please!”

She couldn’t help but jump when there was a noise a few meters in front of her. But she recovered quickly. Her eyes shot open, and she reached for the matches from Dean’s workroom. To her delight, the creature was still there when the ring of flame surrounded him.

“Oh, fucking hell.” he exclaimed. “What the fuck is this?” When she only smiled, “I see. All right, out with it, what do you want?”

She ungracefully rose to her feet, her boots sliding a little in the gravel. But she kept her eyes on him.

The man on the outside looked like a drinker. European. Blond. Anything but clean shaven. Wrinkled clothes. Tall. He moved strangely. Like a creature that had no use for the basic functions of the human body. No breathing to speak of. Everything deliberate. Castiel was the spitting image of human in comparison.

“I need a favor.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I need a good lay, but we can’t always get what we want.”

“Castiel gave the Winchesters his abilities.”

Bal laughed. “Did he?”

“Do the same for me. I want the healing, and the flight, too. Give it to me, or you’re fucked.” She tapped the vase threateningly. “I’ve never deep fried an angel before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at the oil. “Is that—? Well, fuck me. It is. That’s the God damned holy oil I gave those little brats. I shoulda known that’d come back to bite me in the arse later.” Clearing his throat, “Anyway, I’d be properly fucked if I did that!” He paced toward her. “You don’t know what you’re even asking for, do you? Try cutting off both of your legs and then get to work on one of your lungs. Then, we’ll talk.”

“You’ll do it, or I’ll kill you.”

Shrugging, “I’d rather you torched me.” He stepped within inches of the fire line. “I was there for that little stunt. And I wouldn’t do it again for or to anyone. Least of all myself, okay? You’d have to be completely fucked in the head.”

She clenched her jaw. “Castiel did it.”

“I’m sorry, are you hard of hearing? What did I just say? Cas is not exactly a shining example of sanity, is he? He’s got one hell of an identity crisis, and a bad case of mortality on top of it.” He snorted. “So, either let’s get cooking, or let me go. I’ve got better things to do.”

Rosa hesitated. What now? Could she really kill an angel? For what purpose? He posed no threat, and she would gain nothing. She hadn’t really considered the possibility that he would simply, passively not cooperate with her demand. “I could just leave you here.”

His expression changed, and he glared at her. “That’d be a brilliant idea, girlie. Go ahead and do that. I think there’s rain in the forecast for tonight. I’ll stop by whatever hole you crawled out of when I get a free minute.”

“You’re not really in a position to threaten me.”

“No?” He grinned. “What’s your name?”

“Rosa.”

He grimaced at the sound of it. “You’re in over your head, Rosa. And you’re fucking stupid. You think nobody’s going to notice a giant fire in the middle of a crowded city? You think I don’t have friends? There’s no part of this shit little world you could go where I couldn’t find you.” His face changed again abruptly. “But hey, cut me loose, and I promise I’ll let this little mishap slide. You have my word.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

Bal chuckled. “Well, you _are_ a fucking twit, so it was worth a shot.” He stepped back. “I may not be able to get at you from in here, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you probably haven’t got anything special about your ears, now do you?”

“What?”

“Thought so.” He opened his mouth, but sound didn’t come out. Instead, a piercing ring that seemed to come from everywhere at once filled the air. Glass in the door behind her cracked and then shattered. She covered her ears, but it barely helped. It was deafening. She dropped to her knees, hiding her head in her arms as her eyes watered from the pain.

It felt like forever before the sound stopped. Car alarms rang out for blocks in every direction.

“And that’s just our alphabet,” he laughed again. “Care for another go?”

She moaned, but couldn’t form any sort of response. And she wouldn’t get a chance to make one.


	17. It’s Hard to Be a Saint in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read on tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

The sound interrupted the trio’s sexual romp, and they promptly went on the defensive. Dean and Sam strapped on weapons and headed downstairs, but Cas stopped them halfway to the door. “It’s Enochian,” he said with an enchanted look. “I-I think it’s Bal.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Dean swiveled around. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t call him.”

Cas was taken aback by the accusation. “No, of course not. I don’t have a soul, Dean. I couldn’t call him if I wanted to. And you both said we shouldn’t. How could you think that?”

“Man, I didn’t mean—”

But Sam cut him off. “It _is_ Balthazar,” he confirmed, looking out the window. “But I’m pretty sure Rosa did it.”

“What?! How?” Dean’s voice thundered in the otherwise eerily quiet room.

“She must have overheard us,” Cas surmised. He walked over to Sam’s side and peered at the scene in their parking lot. “Fuck. I told her about holy fire. I really shouldn’t have. She has Bal trapped outside.”

“God damnit. How the hell did she even get into my workroom?” He rubbed at his forehead in frustration as the three headed for the door.

Before they could say anything to try and manage the situation, Rosa did perhaps the worst possible thing she could’ve done. She dug her heel into the dirt and gravel and kicked until a small plume overtook a section of the fire ring—thus breaking the trap’s binding power. She couldn’t risk going deaf from another angelic vocal session, and she was close enough to the remaining oil that maybe he would just leave.

But releasing a pissed-off angel with no concern for her personal wellbeing was painfully unwise. He advanced toward her at an unreal speed and had his hand around her neck before she even knew he’d moved. Though he could’ve easily broken the bones in her vertebrae right then, his fingers slowly pressed down on her windpipe instead. If he was going to take the time to kill a human as annoying as this one, he would do so at his leisure. With eyes that pierced through her, Bal lifted her off of the ground using just one arm.

“Hey, hold up, Balthazar,” Sam called from inside, opening the door soon after. “Hold on, let’s talk about this.”

Beginning to tremble, Rosa tried to reach for the oil, but found it just out of her grasp. Instead, she turned to the only thing she’d ever come to rely on: the sword tied to her belt loop. The angel didn’t seem to notice or care as she slid the blade out of its soft leather scabbard and raised it so it pointed at his face. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore his crushing grip on her throat. “Heat up,” she told the sword silently. “Please just heat up.”

But her hand shook, and her whole arm felt weak. She could sense it getting hotter, but it wasn’t fast enough. He’d kill her three times over before it was at full strength. And she couldn’t perform any spells, either, without command of her vocal chords.

“Bal, put her down.” Cas appeared at the doorway. Rosa could see him out of the corner of her eye.

“Cassie! Long time, no see!” His lighthearted tone was more than a little sickening, considering he was strangling her to death. “I take it you’re not in any mortal danger, as this creature so helpfully implied?”

He tilted his head, and his eyes widened. “Wait, you came because you thought I was going to be hurt?” Cas hadn’t spoken to Bal in years. He honestly thought he would never see him again. And yet, at the mere mention of possible harm, Balthazar came running? He’d aided them a lot during their battles with other angels, sure. But Cas was still very surprised he would hurry to help after so long.

The ground rumbled beneath their feet. A pathetic attempt. She was running out of time. Bringing the blade down on the angel’s arm, she watched it burn into the flesh.

But it didn’t do a damn thing. Bal hardly seemed to notice, and when it hit bone, the sword wouldn’t go any further. She pulled it back, preparing to bring it down harder. Maybe she could hack the forearm off completely if she put enough force behind it. But how could she? She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t get her feet to touch the ground. Oh God, would this be how she died? Right here, in front of everyone? Having accomplished nothing?

“That’s it,” she heard Dean say, but she didn’t see him. Out of her view, Dean disappeared and then returned—behind Balthazar. In his hand was a silver spear-like sword, which he laid across Bal’s neck. He pulled the angel back a step, and it forced him to dip Rosa’s feet to the dirt. Though he kept a sturdy hold on her throat, she was able to finally pull oxygen into her lungs.

The muscles in Dean’s arms clenched and flexed as he put his entire strength behind moving the angel. A few slow wing beats helped, but Bal was the stronger of the two, even unarmed. This was a quick fix to the problem at hand, not a real solution.

“We’re all gonna calm the fuck down, okay?” he ordered. “Nobody’s dyin’ here today.”

“Oh, c’mon! My sword, too?! Are you serious? I’m starting to think you’re not very thankful for my help, considering you keep using things, that I gave you, on me!”

“I’m not lookin’ to fight you, man.” He grunted from the strain as Bal tried to push the blade away with his free hand. “I’m not even really sure why you’re here. And I don’t even like this girl. I think she’s a bitch and a liar. But I can’t have you killing witches on our property, all right? So, just chill for a second. Sam,” he motioned with his head toward the fire. “Take care of that?”  
  
The healer nodded and went to retrieve the water hose.

“If you hate the pest so much, let me take her off your hands. Problem solved.” His thumb pressed into Rosa’s jawbone as he jerked her head from side to side to get a better look at her face. It was degrading. But she was incapable of doing anything about it.

Dean shook his head. “Can’t do that, dude. We need her.”

Before Bal could ask why, Cas stepped in. He put his hand on the other angel’s arm—the one that held onto Rosa—and guided it away from her. She immediately recoiled from him, taking cover like a hurt animal near the doorway. For all her claims of hardness and combat-readiness, Rosa did not seem to take close calls very well. But then, none of them did now. Dean and Sam included.

Cas stared past Bal to the ex-hunter. “It’s okay.”

Reluctant, Dean pulled the sword to the side and stepped back. Behind them, Sam was already at work putting out the remaining flames.

“There’s an army of demons attacking this city,” Cas explained. “We’ve been—Sam’s been healing hunters. They come to our house for help. So, Philly is like a safe place for them. Well, I mean, it _was_. Obviously, the demons have a problem with that, so they’re trying to kill us. And everyone else who gets in their way.” He gulped, looking back at Rosa. “The witch is our protection. We tried something on a larger scale, but it didn’t work, Bal, and people died.”

“You’ve been busy, Cassie,” he muttered, taking it all in.

He gave one slow nod. “Since you don’t already know that, I can assume that’s not why she called you here.”

“I would say not! First I’ve heard of it.”

Dean paced over to her and nudged her thigh with the tip of his shoe. “Well?”

She glared up at him. “I wanted his abilities.” Her voice was scratchy and hoarse. “With what I can already do, I’d be a god.” She wheezed, and everything in her body and mind hurt, but she still kept her composure.

He raised an eyebrow. “Point of advice. I’ve met gods before. They’re all power-hungry dicks.” He didn’t hold his tongue for Cas’s sake. Though he no longer held that lapse of judgment against his angel, Dean would never forget it. As long as he lived.

“I’d rather be power-hungry,” she sneered, “than power _less_.”

He stared down at her for a long time at that. Both she and his partners expected some sort of angry response to her outburst, but Dean provided none. In fact, he didn’t react at all. He just stood there, studying her. The statement was probably the first real thing she said in front of the trio that gave them any idea of who she was. And now Dean could easily see a quality that defined her whole life.

It was one he had, too. In a way. The desire to protect what was loved and to feel secure. To feel in control.

The only difference was that Rosa didn’t care about anyone but Rosa, while Dean had two people he loved drastically more than himself. But the perceived difference in altruism didn’t really matter. To him, the sentiment was enough. He couldn’t be angry at her for saying it. Because he understood it. Because it was only a hair different from his own philosophy.

While Cas noticed the exchange, he didn’t focus on it. “If she’d stopped to think, she would’ve called you to help us,” he said cautiously. “‘Cause we could really use your help, Bal. We’re in trouble here.”

Sam opened his mouth to object, but a look from Dean stopped him. The older Winchester _was_ willing to take big chances to defend the people he loved, and if it meant working with this asshole again, so be it. Whatever it took to keep them safe. It’s why Dean tolerated Rosa. And it’s why he agreed to retire here with Sam and Cas. There wasn’t a whole lot he wouldn’t do for them, he thought.

Shutting off the hose, the healer unenthusiastically kept his opinions to himself.

Unhindered, Cas continued. “You’re stronger than us. And it’d be a free excuse to kill some demons, if you wanted to blow off some steam.” Such as the anger Bal currently felt toward Rosa. “To be honest, we _are_ in danger. I almost—I did get hurt, and it was pretty bad. And we weren’t even fighting them directly. Sooner or later, we’ll have to. And we might not come out on top.”

“Absolutely not! Why on Earth would I stick my nose into this?”

“I dunno,” Cas replied, his nerves on overdrive. “But a stranger told you I was going to be harmed, and you showed up in double time. That’s the kind of thing a friend would do. So, I’m asking you, if I’m still your friend, will you help us? Or at least consider it? Please?”

He narrowed his eyes at Cas. “You bastards really think I’ll pitch in and clear up your little demon problem, don’t you?”

“We’re out of options,” Dean said in a stern tone.

Pursing his lips, Balthazar strode closer to the other angel. Indecision was written all over Bal’s face. He didn’t want to help them. It wasn’t in his nature. But he’d done it a dozen times before. For some reason, he felt a sort of loyalty to Cas, left over from their days fighting together. And while he found the Winchesters completely abrasive, and a tad boring as well, he’d witnessed firsthand their connection to Cas. He’d watched it develop over time. Not just the surgery, but the disgustingly adorable romantic crap, too.

“You’ve not been shacking up with these two all this time, have you? Playing house?” His question was quiet enough that Sam couldn’t even make out what he said.

Cas smiled sweetly. “They make me happy.”

He sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this, but—I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Bal.”

The last words hung in the air as Balthazar vanished. The sounds of his wing beats were still bouncing around in Dean’s ears when he turned his attention back to Rosa. “How the fuck did you get into the basement? I have that place locked down.”

She rolled her eyes. “I could use my power on any lock in your house if I felt like it! But it didn’t even require that much effort. You don’t time how long it takes the door to close when you go down there. I blocked the latch.” Reaching into her front pocket, she pulled out the faithful roll of tape and handed it to him. “And you don’t lock your cabinets, either. For people who hide so much, you’re not very good at it.”

“In our own house, we shouldn’t have to hide anything,” Sam let plenty of spite into his tone. Dean may have been pissed at the invasion of privacy, but the healer felt betrayed. Rosa was hateful and disrespectful to them, despite being given free housing, medical treatment, and food. They had to tiptoe around her or risk judgment and ridicule. And they had to cater to her whims and moods. It made Cas miserable. And, on top of all that, she’d taken what little trust they offered and obliterated it.

Though he felt her pain from the injuries, he had no intention of healing her. She wasn’t in any mortal danger, and he wanted her to suffer. He was willing to bear the discomfort it caused him in order to make sure she endured it. Because it was what she deserved.

Continuing, “Forgive us for letting our guard down with people dying and everything we care about in jeopardy. We shouldn’t have counted on you being a decent human being.”

Dean was taken aback by his soulmate’s strong words, but the emotion was so genuine and compelling, so real, that he didn’t have the heart to tell him to dial it back. Instead, he merely walked over to him, pulled him close, and kissed his cheek. Without saying a word, he tried to tell him that everything would be okay.

Still shaken, Rosa gradually stood up and straightened her back. Her neck and jaw were red and bruised from the attack. Her throat ached. Capillaries in her eyes had burst. And she had to hold onto the railing to steady herself. “I’ll be going now.”

“Like hell you are,” Dean countered right away.

“What?” Sam and Cas said nearly simultaneously.

“Until Balthazar comes through, until I know it’s safe, we need your ass here. And now you fucking owe us. You’re staying put,” he insisted.

She coughed. “You can’t keep me here.”

“We just saved your life. If there is anything in you that thinks that counts for something—”

“If you leave, you won’t get your revenge,” Cas jumped in quickly. He didn’t think appealing to Rosa’s compassionate side would do much good. Even if she had a strong one—unlikely with almost no supporting evidence—she wouldn’t dare reveal it to them and expose such vulnerability. “You won’t see the demons get what they deserve for destroying your plan and killing all those people.”

With a bit of a wobble in her step, she turned away from them and headed into the house. “If Balthazar saves the city, it’ll be because I called him here. You should thank me.”

Before they could respond, she disappeared from sight, presumably back up to her room on the second floor. With her gone, however, the three could relax a little. Dean wrapped Sam up in a firm hug and held him there as Cas came over. But he stopped short, staring over their shoulders. “Oh, damnit.”

“What?” Dean was immediately alarmed by Cas’s expression. He turned on one heel, and the blood drained from his face as he saw it. “Sonuva bitch.” The right mirror on his car was cracked. Probably from the earth-shattering noise that was Bal’s “real” angel voice. He kept the Impala immaculate, and while replacing it would be a minor inconvenience, he never liked seeing damage come to that vehicle. In a past life, that car was their only home. It was the one stable place they had amongst absolute chaos.

Sam kissed him reassuringly. “We’ll get it fixed.”

“Yeah.”


	18. Wiser Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

They didn’t hear anything for two days. Rosa didn’t take off, but she may as well have for how much the three saw her. Dean caught a brief glimpse early one morning as she scoured the fridge for some breakfast. He couldn’t sleep and was up before his companions. The bruising on her neck and face was far more pronounced now. He winced. In this setting, dressed in a simple cotton t-shirt and jeans, she looked like a domestic abuse victim, not a fighter who went a couple rounds with an angel. And it seemed like she was in pain.

He thought about asking Sam to heal her, just for the sake of appearances—and a little mercy—but he decided against it, since his brother was still very angry with her. 

Sam delighted in her absence, in fact. At first, he’d been the most willing to work with her, but along the way, it’d hindered his ability to be with Dean whenever they wanted—which was part of the whole point of having a house and this kind of life. They were soulmates. They immediately felt better just being in the same room with each other. But since Rosa hated seeing even the slightest mundane touches between them—and they couldn’t help but dislike being judged—the two toned it down in her presence.

They didn’t have to if she wasn’t around.

The healer took advantage of the newfound freedom. The moment yesterday’s clients were all gone, he practically jumped Dean in the dining room. They barely made it upstairs with any clothes left on. And the same happened during a lull this morning, except Sam probably would’ve banged Dean right on his desk if he hadn’t protested for fear of being walked in on by customers arriving early.

And this was all with Sam still recovering from overdoing it right after the mission failed. When he wore himself out, that usually dampened his interest and excitement, made him tired, and generally slowed him down. On top of it, he kept seeing patients and slept no more than usual. So, It had to be through Sam’s relief and added happiness alone that he and Dean worked in some extra one-on-one time. And it was wonderful.

The older Winchester hoped that it would persist when they finally got rid of Rosa for good.

As for Cas, he grew more distant. But it wasn’t because he wanted the humans to have more time together—though he was happy to see it happening. Nor was it about nervousness or doubt in Bal’s return. In fact, he was more hopeful now than he had been since the summer demon battling began.

Truthfully, he was just enthusiastic to see what the other angel would do.

He missed Bal. Missed being around other angels. While he loved his life with the Winchesters, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything, he was still an angel. He believed there was hope for angels as a species, despite the war and the deaths. And Balthazar was demonstrating that.

Bal didn’t typically care about anyone but himself, or so he wanted others to believe. But Cas knew better. He knew Bal would help them, out of friendship and loyalty and common decency.

So, he waited, either in the kitchen, their bed, or at a seat by the front window. Lost in thought, he didn’t immediately respond to his lovers’ inquiries when they dared bother him. But when he did, he would just smile and apologize.

It was nice to see Cas happy, even if he wasn’t completely there for the time being.

As Dean sat down in the main room to have a beer, Sam slept off their midday romp upstairs. Cas was busy in the kitchen, preparing some form of dinner and daydreaming. The smell of whatever he had cooking—beef stew, Dean guessed—wafted toward him and made his stomach growl.

Both of them heard wing beats as several angelic visitors appeared in the corner across from the human. But only Dean reacted with alarm. He jumped up from his seat and lunged for Sam’s desk, where the angel sword was being kept for easy access. But when he saw that Bal was there, along with strangers, he stopped himself from opening the drawer.

Cas had no fear to speak of. He dashed into the room with a big smile on his face. “Three of you?” he asked excitedly. “Three angels? Oh, wow, uh—hello!”

Bal didn’t mention that he would be bringing friends. For Dean, this was a liability. Now, three angels knew where they lived, and they could tell whoever they wanted. Even if they were friendly, there could be many members of that species that still wanted to see Cas dead.

“Reinforcements,” Bal said, gesturing to the others. “I could handle it myself, of course, but I figured ‘hey, why not share the fun?’” he laughed. Pointing with his thumb to the angel at his right, “This is Melchior, and I think you know—”

“Inias! Oh my God.” It really was him, and the vessel he’d favored for at least a decade. Big eyes, pale skin. Hair smoothed down to one side. Stubble. Some young accountant from Wisconsin.

Cas had nothing but good memories of this one. While Dean had doubts, Cas couldn’t if he tried. Inias was once part of his garrison. He fought for and alongside him, and he looked to Cas as a mentor. He was one of the few angels drastically younger, having been created along with a small group of others right after Lucifer fell.

Since he didn’t have to witness that sad time in the Kingdom’s history, he seemed that much sweeter and kinder than his older siblings. He was compassionate. Perhaps more so than any other angel Cas could think of. He valued peace and cooperation. He knew and cherished love. And he was the polar opposite to Balthazar’s snarky and cynical personality.

It came as a surprise to see them both standing together, actually, since they were so different. Though Inias was the perfect choice. Despite his gentle temperament, he was still an accomplished soldier, and his loyalty and admiration for Cas would make him an invaluable ally.

Overjoyed to see him again, Cas sprinted up to the unsuspecting angel and embraced him. It was a very human action, and not something he would have done as the leader of a garrison, but Inias appreciated it, nevertheless.

“Cas! It’s been too long.”

Pulling away a little, “You rebelled?”

“Yes and no.” He blushed, stepping back. “Not at first. They never called on me to fight, so I didn’t have to pick a side. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if they had. But when it all grew quiet, I didn’t feel like I belonged anymore, so I just left. Gabriel doesn’t enforce it like Raphael did. I don’t know how it would be if I tried to return, but I don’t think anyone is looking for me.”

Cas smiled slightly. “It’s good to see you.”

The other angel, who he didn’t recognize at all, stepped forward tentatively. The vessel was a muscular man with immaculately kept dreadlocks that were woven in intricate patterns and tied neatly back. He had deep brown eyes with a hint of gold in them. No facial hair. Not even a five o’clock shadow. Both arms were tucked behind his back, and his head was down a little—almost as though he were making an effort to be humble. As he got closer, Cas swore he could smell fresh rain.

“Hello, Castiel,” he said timidly.

“Forgive me, what was your name again?”

He cleared his throat. “Melchior.”

_Oh._

Now, he remembered. While Cas had never met this angel, he certainly knew who he was. A very, very old friend and colleague of Bal’s. An important and ancient angel whose name he hadn’t heard in a long time. “Welcome to our home.”

“Mel’s a fan of yours,” Balthazar cut in, trying to dissolve some of the awkwardness. “He was part of the revolution.”

“The ones that worked for Rhiannon?” Dean accused. Only reason he remembered her name was because it also happened to be the title of a Fleetwood Mac song. “The angel chick who was trying to kill us?”

Melchior’s muscles visibly tensed. “No. Castiel, I did not work for Rhiannon. I worked only for you. Our loyalties were to you, and everything you stood for.” Pausing, he looked Cas up and down. “But we were told you were dead. That you had been killed by Raphael. We looked, but we couldn’t find you. Even when Rhiannon died, and I took up the fight, we searched on our own. I swear it. We didn’t find any trace of you.”

Cas wasn’t used to this kind of talk—the respect an angel would give another of higher rank. It’d been so long since anyone spoke to him that way. He’d forgotten what it felt like. Aiming to calm him, Cas raised one hand to indicate he understood. “It’s all right, Melchior. We had to disappear to survive. And I’m—a little different from what I was.”

“A little?!” Bal scoffed.

He narrowed his eyes at him, but addressed Melchior. “I think if you look, you’ll see it, but—I’m not really an angel anymore.”

It took the newcomer a moment. He knew there was something wrong with Cas by the dimness of his inner light, but he refused to pry without an invitation. When he did look, he found that several parts of the angel—who for some time had essentially become his idol—were missing. Not damaged, but completely absent. He recoiled, and in the process, caught a glimpse of where one of those pieces had gone. The human in the corner somehow had Cas’s wings attached to his soul. And he moved them like any angel might. Tiny adjustments with the shifting of his weight.

“Oh, wow. They were not exaggerating about your devotion to humans,” he murmured, staring conspicuously at Dean, who fidgeted uncomfortably under the angel’s gaze. “You’ve given of yourself to them in ways I cannot even begin to imagine.”

Balthazar burst out laughing. “You don’t want to!”

Cas didn’t feel the need to acknowledge that comment, though he did blush a little. “There’s a reason our Father loves them so much. They know freedom and love and so many other things we couldn’t have before the rebellion.”

Mel smiled, visibly relaxing. “You’re not as I imagined, but it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Castiel.”

“And you as well! I’m pretty sure your reputation is better than mine.”

He laughed and looked toward the floor. “I am not sure about that.”

Before they could move on to the business at hand, Dean strode up to Cas and took hold of him by the arm. “A word? In the other room?”

“Sure, Dean.” He shot him a calm look. The ex-hunter was clearly nervous around all the angels. Not surprising, considering the Winchesters’ less than enjoyable record with them in the past. Nevermind that the three had entered the house without asking. Though angels wouldn’t think anything of simple walls, especially when they were here to help, it was not something a human would think is okay. “Make yourselves at home. We’ll just be a minute or so.”

The two walked away, headed into the dining room. When they got there, Cas leaned against the table and looked up at Dean. “You don’t trust them.”

“Hell no, I don’t. You don’t even know one of them.” His voice was especially deep as he tried to keep the volume down.

He motioned for the man to move closer. When he was within reach, Cas grabbed his hand and held onto it. He’d long since memorized the ridges, calluses, and smoothness of every inch of the Dean’s hands, but he still delighted in running his fingers over them. “Balthazar has helped us many times, and he’s made very good choices. Inias once worked for me in my garrison. He is kinder and more compassionate than any other angel I know, and he looks up to me. He’s not a threat.”

“And the other guy?”

“Melchior is very old, and much different from me. He’s a magi. Uh, it’s a sub-classification of angel.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Magi are well-known for their honor. They also tend to be more independent than regular soldiers. Which is probably why he rebelled. He seems to believe in the same things I do, if that helps.” He gulped.

“Magi?” The word sounded incredibly familiar. “Wait, _magi_? Like one of the wise men? Baby in a manger, no room at the inn, _wise men_?!”

Cas took a step closer to him. “Hey, don’t say that too loud. It’ll go to Bal’s head.”

“Wait, Balthazar is—I’m sorry, what?”

He laughed. “Yeah, of course. Didn’t you pay attention in Sunday School? He’s actually _in_ the Bible. One of the few of us who are.”

After a moment to process the revelation, Dean gave up trying and merely shrugged. “Uh, hate to break it to you, Cas, but we weren’t exactly the church-going type.”

“But Sam, he—”

“Yeah, that’s Sam. Used to pray every night.” 

Especially when they got mixed up with the yellow-eyed demon. His brother thought for sure he was damned because of the demon blood that once flowed in his veins. He had no idea, like Dean had no idea, that their salvation was guaranteed. Prayer was the only outlet Sam had. Though Dean by no means shared his piety, he understood why Sam felt like he needed it.

“Still does.” Cas’d seen him do it, and he could _feel_ how full of faith Sam was, from the point they first met onward. It was something, along with that eternal optimism, that the angel found particularly wonderful about him.

“I guess.” If he still had the habit, he never showed it in front of Dean. He didn’t like the idea that Sam might be hiding something from him, but he resolved not to take it personally. Sam often kept emotional things like that to himself. Particularly when he thought it might make Dean uncomfortable.

“But you should have as much faith as your brother,” Cas insisted. Their lives were equally blessed, and their souls everlastingly tied together. It seemed silly that one might acknowledge it while the other didn’t.

“Why’s that?”

He kissed him. “God’s given you a rare and wonderful gift, Dean. Real, unending happiness.”

“Huh?” The amount of hurt in his voice surprised the angel. “You mean the soulmate thing? That’s not eternal happiness, man.”

“Dean! Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

But he did. In that moment, he felt like he’d never believed anything more than he believed those words. “It’s true. I don’t get to have you, do I? _We_ don’t. Even if God somehow gave me you, gave you to us, to have on Earth—which I really doubt given the circumstances—eternity without you isn’t happiness. It’s Hell. It’s Hell for me, Cas. It’s the one thing that I just can’t even stand thinkin’ about. And yet, I do it all the fucking time, dude. I can’t stop.”

Rather than reply, the angel covered his own mouth with one hand.

“What do you think we’ve been doin’ here?” Dean couldn’t help but continue. “Cas, you and Sam are everything—there’s nothing else to me. Just you two.” He rubbed at his temples as a headache started to form. After a pause, “Look, I’m glad I get to have Sam past our expiration dates, and I’m sure Heaven is a very nice place. But I can’t—I can’t imagine going on without you, okay? I don’t want to. I don’t think I can do it.”

Cas wasn’t sure what to say. Dean looked like he was in so much pain. The kind not even Sam’s healing touch could sooth. They’d talked about this before, but the heightened stress and danger must’ve been hitting Dean especially hard. But as it stood, they didn’t have a real way to fix it. Cas had no solution to give him. He wasn’t sure there would ever be one.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He draped his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pulled him in for another kiss. Anything he could do to try and make him feel just a little better—he wanted to do it. “Faith or not, I love you, Dean,” he whispered eventually. “You astound me. And for however long we have left, I feel blessed to spend it with you.”

That was _his_ outlook. Live in the moment and cherish the time he could spend with them. It was the only thing he could do, and though it hurt him to know that in the end they wouldn’t be together, most of the time, he managed to focus on how happy the two made him.

Dean exhaled just loud enough to hear. It wasn’t a sigh of relief, however. Cas could detect immense pain there. Sharpness. It was worse than he’d ever seen him. The angel silently cursed himself for bringing this out in his partner, though he suspected that it had been festering discretely for some time. He never wanted to see Dean upset, and he certainly didn’t want to be the cause.

And worse yet?

“You’re shaking,” he murmured into the man’s ear.  Cas could feel him tremble in his arms. It was a rarity to see him this visibly affected by emotion, and he looked to be especially in bad shape. “Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled him a few inches until their chests touched. With one hand, he cradled the back of Dean’s head.

The older Winchester allowed himself a few moments of closeness. As though if he just held Cas, and Cas hung onto him, then they would never have to leave each other. He only moved back so he could look at the angel—so he could let his eyes travel over every line on his face. So he could try and memorize it all over again. On top of the fear of eternal life without him, he had nightmares that he would eventually forget what Cas looked like. That with passing time in “paradise,” he would lose more and more of his memories until there was just the idea of him left.

And a terrible, overwhelming feeling of loss.

Cas looked at him, too, but not to exercise his memory. He studied the human, attempting to discern how bad things really were. It certainly seemed dire, didn’t it? His gaze contained not even an ounce of hope. His teeth were a few words away from chattering. He looked as though, if he attempted to speak, he would start sobbing. Everything about him screamed that he was close to breaking apart. All at the thought of losing Cas at some distant point in the future.

Fighting to maintain composure himself, he guided Dean down into a chair. Cas tried to reign in his concern, but seeing his partner like this made him incredibly worried. How could a person live with this much sadness building just beneath the surface?

He left him there for only a few seconds in order to retrieve a beer from the fridge and turn down the heat on their supper so it wouldn’t burn. When he returned, he pressed the cold glass bottle into Dean’s hand.

“Wanna sit this one out? It’s okay, really.”

“What? No. No way. I’m not gonna let you deal with these crazies by yourself.” He twisted the top off of the beer and drank half of it in one go. “I’m fine.”

Cas shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re not even close to fine. I know you.” His heart began to race. “You think you honestly have a lot to offer in conversation right now, Dean? You’re hurting. You don’t need to deal with this. I’ll get Sam instead.”

Glancing at him briefly, Dean kept his head down. “He’s asleep.”

“Then I’ll wake him up!” He didn’t intend to take “no” for an answer. “There’s no reason why it has to be you.”

He took a long gulp of his beer. “What am I supposed to do, if I can’t help?”

The angel had a hunch that he didn’t mean dealing with the angels and demons. “You do what you can and try to make the most of it.” He caressed his cheek in an attempt to reassure him. “I’m gonna get Sam. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

When he nodded, Cas took off for their bedroom.


	19. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Upstairs, he found the healer face down in a pile of pillows and wearing nothing but a pair of blue boxer shorts. Cas gently touched his shoulder. “Sam?” When he started moving, “Hey, Sam. I need you to wake up, all right? The angels are here.”

That got him up quickly. He pulled himself into a sitting position and brushed the hair out of his face. With sleepy eyes, he smiled at Cas. “More than one?”

“Yeah, Bal and two others.”

“And they wanna see me?” He was surprised.

Cas looked away. “Uh, no. Not really. It’s just—umm, Dean’s not doing so hot, and, well, I don’t think he’s up to it right now.”

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

He rubbed at his mouth self-consciously. Part of him was worried Sam might be a little offended about the situation, but he also thought he needed to know. “I don’t think he wants to live forever if I’m not there.”

Sam’s eyes opened wide, and his brow furrowed. “It’s been eating him up for a long time,” he admitted.

“I think it’s worse now. He just seems so _lost_.”

He stretched. Reaching for a grey t-shirt—one of Cas’s—he stiffly worked his torso into it. The garment, emblazoned with his university’s crest, was tight on Sam in all the right ways. It was more than flattering, and Cas certainly didn’t mind him borrowing it, despite the possibility that the shirt could get stretched out. Even with bed hair and half-asleep, in a shirt that close-fitting, Sam looked absolutely stunning. Cas couldn’t help but become aroused a little. He was gorgeous. As the healer got up and donned one of his more formal pairs of jeans, Cas watched with fascination.

Dean would look at such an outfit with disdain. Too feminine. Too _obvious_.

But dressing this way didn’t bother Sam one bit. He couldn’t care less about what other people, apart from his companions, thought about him or his sexuality or any of it. He loved two people who happened to be carrying around male toolboxes, and he loved what he could do with them. But they could’ve easily been women, he thought. And he was sure he would adore everything about them in that case, too, so long as they were still the same people, deep down.

He wasn’t sure he even _had_ a sexual orientation. Both of his partners did, with Cas aligned squarely toward men and Dean easily turned on by all kinds of people of a legal age. But Sam? He couldn’t even imagine looking at anyone other than his soulmate and the angel, so he didn’t think it really mattered. If he did something that people might think was stereotypical, so what? It wasn’t important.

And, anyway, Cas seemed to like it when he did. What’s more, this particular outfit was driving him crazy. Sam knew it would. They’d been together long enough for him to notice that Cas had a thing for whenever he wore something that showed off his muscles. And if it cheered him up after a heavy conversation with Dean? Well, that was even better.

It definitely looked like he needed it. Whatever was going on with his brother, the issue took a toll on Cas. Made him more on edge. Worried him. Anything Sam could do, including and surpassing the deployment of a tight t-shirt, he was happy to do it.

“Is it weird that I really like when you look at me like that?” The healer smiled wide, blushing.

Sam knew specifics like that. He knew what excited him, just as he knew what made his companions happy. That was how he operated. Wearing a loose-fitting shirt wouldn’t fix Dean’s sadness, but wearing a close-fitting one could help Cas, at least on some level.

The angel turned away bashfully. “Not at all.”

Sliding his feet into a pair of loafers, Sam strutted up to him. “C’mon. Don’t stop!”

His stare found its way to Sam’s waist and traveled up his chest. When his head was at the right angle, Sam met him for a kiss. Both would’ve welcomed much more, but the seriousness of Dean’s apparent breakdown and their winged guests’ arrival prevented more than a quick touch. As Cas pulled back, his expression confirmed it. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

“I’m not sure there is anything either of us _can_ say. All we can do is just be there, you know? And, I guess, hope that he eventually comes to terms with it.” He touched the bottom of Cas’s chin with the back of his index finger. “When the demons are gone, I’m sure things will get better. It’s just got him riled up, I think.”

“Maybe.”

“It’ll be okay.” He gave him another brief kiss. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if Dean would ever get over the thought of losing their angel, and if he did, Sam doubted it would be while Cas was still alive. Hell, Sam certainly wasn’t okay with it, either. He was just coping better.

But maybe Dean would eventually start handling it, so at least they could go back to enjoying their time with Cas as much as humanly possible.

Sam slipped past him and went downstairs.

In the dining room, they found Dean brooding over an empty bottle. He hadn’t moved except to finish his drink, and his eyes stared off blankly. Sam walked over to him, bent down, and set one hand gently on the side of his face. Kissing him just above his eyebrow, Sam lingered there long enough to tell him silently that things would be okay. They did this all the time, the nonverbal communication. The constant reassurances. But the healer thought there couldn’t be a more important time for it.

Dean only looked up at him after he let go. Sam caught a glimpse of fear before he hid it. His soulmate looked so vulnerable. And Cas nailed it: he seemed lost. He caressed the top of Dean’s hand before reluctantly leaving him to go meet the angels.

Remaining out of sight, Dean heard his brother introduce himself. “Hi there. I’m Sam, and I’m a friend of Cas’s. So, what’s the plan?”

***

The “plan,” as it turned out, was finding all the demons and killing them one at a time.

What seemed like an impossible task to the humans was actually simple for the angels. And downright fun. A smiting spree was just what Balthazar needed, and fighting alongside Melchior again came as an added bonus. All three magi—and there were only three—were split up into different garrisons millennia ago, and they hadn’t had similar assignments the whole time. While all angels were technically Bal’s siblings, Mel actually felt like one.

Inias did his part, too. As Cas had both anticipated and later insisted, the young angel was an accomplished fighter despite his mild tendencies. And for Cas, his hero, he seemed happy to kill as many demons as necessary.

They weeded each one of the little devils out of their hiding places in and around the city. When they felt like it, or a host was particularly young or attractive, Bal and Mel took the time to pull the demon out of the body before obliterating it. No sense in wasting good flesh. Inias did the same when directed by his elders. He didn’t seem to care either way. He only wanted to get the job done.

It took long enough to get tedious.

Four hours.

Without really stopping or slowing down, the three worked from the center of the city outward in a spiral until there were no more demons to be found. The creatures had no defenses against them. No place to hide. Most of them weren’t even trying. The lazy bastards were enjoying a bit of leisure time in between terrorizing hunters, so some didn’t even put up a fight.

Balthazar gave up on making clever remarks before killing them at around the two-hour point.

They were covered in blood by the end. When they showed up at Casa Winchester, though, they took a moment to clean themselves off. Bal thought the shock value would have been worth it. But it wouldn’t be polite to drip blood all over their hardwood floors, and Melchior protested on their behalf.

The house’s three occupants all came to meet them this time, and they looked to the angels for a report of their progress.

Out of sheer excitement, Inias answered first. “It’s done. We got them all.”

“What, really?” Dean was more than a little surprised. They were only gone a few hours, and if his new sulfur detector was any judge, the city had been crawling with demons.

“Of course.”

“And the humans they were in?” Sam asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Bal shrugged. “Couldn’t save ‘em all, but a few are still kickin’.”

Smiling, Cas stepped forward. “Thanks, Bal. Inias. Melchior. You’ve really helped us.”

“Unless they come back.” Dean was suspicious. It all felt too easy. Send a bunch of angels to nuke the demon army. No big deal. End of story. Except that nothing was ever easy, and just because they’d killed a bunch of the bastards, it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be more where they came from.

“Not likely,” Mel retorted. “For lower demons, exiting Hell is not so easy. Azazel,” the yellow-eyed demon, “let out a lot of them before you killed him, but it was a finite number. We killed thousands. It looked as though most of the army was parked here. I would not worry. If more come, it will be in a manageable number.”

Nodding, Inias put one hand on Cas’s upper arm. “I can stay for a few days, though. Keep watch. Just in case.”

Cas didn’t think it would be necessary, but he wanted to make Dean feel better. He would’ve done anything to make that happen. “Could you? I think it’ll give us all some piece of mind.”

“Absolutely. It would be an honor.”

***

Up early again, Dean caught Rosa’s ritualistic morning binge, and this time decided, despite his best interest, to strike up a conversation. “It’s almost like you want to stay here,” he accused. She certainly seemed to like their food enough. And though the demons were pretty much extinct in Philadelphia, she’d made no move to depart.

She shrugged. “It’s convenient.”

“Don’t you have any family of your own?”

Scoffing, “Nope. Most of them are dead or don’t exactly keep in touch. Kinda like yours.” Dead mother and grandparents. Father split. No extended family to speak of. No siblings. She’d done enough research on the Winchesters to know their situation wasn’t much better.

God, she really loved pushing people away, didn’t she? But he luckily had a good counter argument. “What are you talking about? I have a pretty awesome family. You’ve met them.” Sam. Cas. Bobby.

“I meant your parents.”

He snorted. What could she possibly know about them? “You mean how my mom died trying to protect Sam from a demon? And my dad sold his soul to save my life? They may be dead, but they didn’t abandon us, if that’s what you’re getting at. Ain’t no way you could spin that to make me believe it.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Is he still in Hell?”

“No, we let him out. His spirit, it-uh—it helped us gank the demon that killed my mom. And then he just vanished.”

Dumping a handful of cantaloupe slices into a bowl, she walked over to him. “If he’s still a ghost, you can talk to him, if you want,” she began slowly. “I could bring him here, and you could see him. In a dream, so it’s safer. I know the spell.”

He went pale. “Uh, no thanks. I’ll pass.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to? I’m sure you miss him. It’s no trouble…”

Shaking his head, “Look, I’m sure you mean well, but that sounds like a nightmare. No thanks. Not interested.”

“You’re ashamed, aren’t you? Of what he’ll think?” She couldn’t help but say it.

Sort of.

He couldn’t help how he felt about Sam, and he didn’t want to change it. He loved him. Really loved him. And what they did together? He loved that, too. It was a chance to make Sam very happy, instead of just looking out for him. And it made Dean happy, as well. He _liked_ it. As strange and difficult to explain as their past history was, it didn’t stop Sam from turning him on and vice versa. 

But at the same time, he had no interest in discussing it with their father. At all. He didn’t think John Winchester should know about it, and he hoped he never would. The man wouldn’t care whether or not his sons were soulmates. He would just think about how they were his children. And, if past experience was any judge, he would most certainly blame Dean. He’d see this as proof of him not taking care of Sam—when in reality, Dean thought for sure he was accomplishing the task _better_ , now—and he’d probably lash out at him. 

Nevermind that Sam had done all the convincing, or that, more often than not, he took charge in bed. It wouldn’t make a damn difference, and Dean wasn’t sure he could get the words out to try and explain.

He could feel his face getting hot. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“To the guy who gave his life for you? Really?”

What the fuck? What right did she have to make any sort of judgment about his situation? She’d never even met his dad, and she sure as hell had no idea what went through Dean’s head when he figured out what’d been done to save him. No wonder Cas and Sam were content ignoring her. A few minutes of conversation, and he wanted to strangle the woman. All over again.

“What’s the best scenario, huh?” he snapped back. “He’s just happy to see me and doesn’t care about me and Sam being together? He’s still dead. He still got tortured in Hell for however long in order to save my life. That’s the best thing that could happen. And somehow, I really doubt that’s how it would go down. More likely? My dead dad chews me out for fucking my little brother, tells me I sicken him, and then disowns me. Yeah, that sounds like a blast.”

“But—”

“I said I’ll pass!” he shouted across the room at her. “I’d rather he stayed dead. At least when I lost him the first time, he still respected me, still thought I was worth something.”

His frankness killed any resolve she had in mentioning that maybe there was a good reason why his father could be upset. Instead, she simply felt bad for him. It did at least appear as though he didn’t think he had any choice, that him and Sam being romantically entangled was set in stone. Maybe it was. Maybe they really couldn’t help it? They did insist on referring to each other as “soulmates.” Actual ones. As though that could be a real thing. Maybe they were telling the truth.

It didn’t make her cringe any less, but perhaps it was something she could come to understand better. And she could bend a little, at least for the sake of not having to sneak around so much. “You never know. He might not care. He might just miss you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why wouldn’t he? You do, and you have no personal stake at all.”

True. What they did had no bearing on her life in the slightest. In fact, as far as she understood, the reason there was a roof over her head was because the two, along with the angel, decided to settle down together. If anything, she benefited, even if the thought of it made her queasy. “He gave up everything for you. Seems silly that he would throw it away over this.”

He laughed dismissively. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m not gonna take that chance.”


	20. Mr. Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

He knocked on the door swiftly. The hell hound waited a few paces behind him with her head down. She’d already expressed her distaste for this endeavor, insisting that Crowley would not appreciate being interrupted. But Cas didn’t care. He told her that Crowley always enjoyed his company, and whatever the King of Hell was up to could wait. Since she’d been instructed to cater to his whims, she had no choice but to go along.

There was no answer the first time. He put his ear to the wood and listened. There were voices on the other side, but he couldn’t make out their words.

He tried again, striking the door louder and with more force. “Crowley?” he inquired to the occupants inside.

The room got quiet. Then, he heard the legs of a chair scrape against the floor, followed by footsteps. He moved away, nearly backing into the hell hound, who didn’t react as quickly. He watched with trepidation as the knob turned and the door swung open.

Anger was the first emotion he read on the demon’s external face. But it faded with record speed as his eyes fell on Cas.

The angel was a sight to see. He’d spent the better part of an hour rifling through Crowley’s offering of clothes—until he found the closest fitting, most flattering shirt in the whole lot: a blood red, collared number, hand-tailored at the sides. Paired with dark, pinstriped slacks and a simple black belt, the shirt was tucked in meticulously. But he left the top two buttons open. He’d donned a pair of black dress shoes, combed his hair, and even applied a hint of some cologne.

Now, he stood nonchalantly in front of the demon, with his thumbs looped into the edges of his pockets and his whole body relaxed. He bit into his lower lip and smiled. “Are you busy? I can come back later.”

His voice and everything about him was calm. It’d taken a fifteen-minute pep talk and two glasses of wine to get him here, but the combination seemed to be working wonders. Apart from the lingering injuries to his face—the only ones he couldn’t cover up—he looked and acted perfectly serene.

Crowley eyed him with hunger in his expression. “Nothing I can’t put on hold.” Turning, “Don’t think you’re needed for this,” he told the hell hound.

She shrugged and gladly departed.

With her gone, Crowley seemed to lighten up. “Now, what do you want?” he asked in a soft tone.

Feigning bashfulness, Cas scratched the back of his head. “Talk, mostly.” He turned around and started to pace down the hall, hoping the demon would follow. When he did, Cas smiled at him again. “I’m kinda going stir crazy a little. And, well, your hounds aren’t much for conversation.”

“So, you’d rather talk to me?” He was skeptical, but the grin he tried to suppress gave away his enthusiasm at the prospect.

Shrugging. “Everyone else wants to kill me, so yeah.”

“There _is_ that.”

They reached the stairs to his quarters quicker than Cas expected. He could feel his heart pounding in his ribcage. “Uh, I found a chess set,” he said nervously as they began climbing. “It’s a really nice one. Metal and glass. Do you play?”

He laughed. “Only since I was a lad.”

“Good. The dog doesn’t know how, and I don’t wanna play a beginner.”

Once they reached his rooms, Cas opened the door, grabbed the box off of a table, opened it, and began setting it up for a game. He stopped mid-placement of one of the bishops and motioned for Crowley to take a seat across from him. “I don’t know how you stand it. This place is so boring.”

“When you’ve got a position like mine, a bit of peace and quiet now and then is rare.” He meandered over and sat down. He watched Cas’s movements like a hawk after prey.

“I guess.” Returning to his work, he didn’t speak again until all the pieces were properly situated. “Care for a wager?”

He sat back in his chair. “Let me guess. If you win, I’m to let you go free. Right. Not happening. I’m a damn good player, but I’m not stupid. And you don’t look your age, Cassie boy.”

Cas shook his head. “I didn’t think there was any point in asking for that, actually. I know you’re not going to cut me loose, Crowley. I think I get it now. I understand.” Looking down at the pieces, he picked up a pawn to his left and moved it two spaces forward.

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“The people who care about me, they all act the same. They want to keep me safe. Hide me away somewhere. Protect me. Like I’m fragile or something. If you feel the way you claim to, and I think you do, then there’s no chance you would ever want to let me leave. Dean and Sam do the same thing. It’s exactly the same.” In truth, he didn’t think it was anything like the Winchesters, who really loved him and cared about what he wanted. But there was no reason to tell the demon that.

Crowley also moved a pawn near the middle of the board, but only one space. He didn’t outwardly react to Cas’s speech, but his silence was evidence enough. He agreed with the sentiment. In his mind, he couldn’t let the angel go. Not that he didn’t want to, but that he wasn’t capable of it. And he justified the kidnapping because he was, at least on some level, completely smitten with him.

“It’s not that difficult to see, even in a thing like you.” Cas slid his left rook up to the pawn.

The demon’s gaze bounced over the pieces for awhile before he selected the queen and moved her within range of Cas’s king. The angel wouldn’t be able to use the pawn that separated them until he either put a different piece in the way or Crowley moved his. But at this stage of the game, it didn’t much matter. The move was more about intimidation than strategy, and since it was just a board game, Cas didn’t really feel intimidated.

“What would you bet, then?” Crowley asked, waiting for Cas to take his turn.

Aggressive action. He slid the rook horizontally until it threatened the queen. Since his piece was now protected by both a pawn and a knight, she would have to retreat. And she did, by two spaces. Cas didn’t pursue her. Instead, he moved another pawn in preparation for bringing out the right bishop. He would want to get as many of his important pieces into play as possible. Easier for his opponent to miss something and walk into a trap.

While the demon was pondering his next move, Cas cleared his throat. “Every time I take a piece of yours, you have to answer a question. Truthfully.”

He chose a knight seemingly at random and brought it in front of the pawns. “And what do I get?”

“The same.”

But Crowley shook his head. “No deal. I already know enough.” And he wasn’t quite certain that the angel would answer honestly to the few remaining questions he had.

“Then what do you want?”

The corners of his lips turned upward evilly. “For every piece I get, you take something off.”

Cas’s eyes widened, and he could feel himself blushing. “No.” Absolutely not. He dressed sensually to get Crowley into the room, but he sure as hell planned to keep his clothes on around his captor. He didn’t trust him not to—

“Oh, c’mon! Pawns can be buttons, if it helps. And I won’t hurt you, if you’re worried about that. Scout’s honor, love. I won’t even touch you.”

The angel studied his face for a long time. He actually seemed genuine, but could Cas be sure? Was his plan worth the risk?

“If I meant to cause you any harm—darling, I would’ve done it already,” he continued. “I wouldn’t. I mean that. I have no reason to. But I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t really _love_ to see what you’ve got under here.” He reached over the board and tugged on Cas’s collar before letting it go quickly. “What do you say? Humor me?”

Cas gulped. If he wanted to get any information out of him, he would have to play along. And hope that the demon would keep his word. He pushed the bishop two squares. “Okay.”

Grinning viciously, Crowley brought the queen down diagonally, nearly the full length of the board, to take one of Cas’s pawns. With the fallen piece still in his hand, he pointed toward Cas’s chest and raised an eyebrow. “Go on, then.”

He hesitated. This was a bad idea, a voice raged in his head. But what choice did he have? He would never escape if he didn’t get the information he needed. Sighing, he reached for the topmost button of his shirt and, with a flick of his fingers, undid it. Returning to the game, he hopped another pawn over his own bishop. He was tempted to try and take a piece of the demon’s right away, but it wasn’t good strategy, and he knew he would collect more—and thus be able to ask more questions—in the long run if he actually won the game.

Though Crowley craned his neck to have a better look down Cas’s shirt, his next move, bringing his own bishop near the queen, was a sound one. “Check, love,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. Cas grunted as he realized that he would now have to defend, rather than attack.

He moved a pawn up one space to block. It was protected by his knight so he didn’t have to worry about—nevermind. Crowley took the piece with his bishop. “Check, again.”

“My knight.”

He laughed. “Oh, I know. Worth it.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at him, undoing another button and removing the piece. “Are we on an island?” he asked unceremoniously.

The demon nodded. “More like some rocks with grass on them, but yeah. Didn’t you notice?” To Cas’s dismay, he took the knight with his queen. “That’s a big one. I’m thinking: shoes. Or belt.”

Shoes. He took his time untying them, but then let both fall from his hands to the floor. The heels made a clapping sound as they landed.

“Also, you’re in check again, love.”

With a shrug, he backed up his bishop by one space, simultaneously blocking and putting Crowley’s queen in danger. He reacted by pulling her up two spaces. Cas brought his remaining knight out of the corner. The pawn to the demon’s far right progressed two blocks. One of Cas’s, now protected by the knight, moved up to threaten the queen. Other than retreat, there were few options, but Crowley managed to find one after some thought and slid the queen down to the third row on Cas’s side.

His knight moved up. The queen was exposed again, this time to the rook, but he slid her to threaten the knight. God, Crowley relied so heavily on that one piece. He dragged the knight back down—but he immediately regretted the move, as the King of Hell quickly scored yet another pawn. His shirt was gaping open now, all the way down to the navel. He untucked the garment to reveal that there were still three more buttons.

The angel was losing. Desperate, he moved a pawn one space to avoid its demise. Crowley’s second knight jumped out of hiding. Trying to stay calm, Cas pushed his bishop up to the first knight as though he wanted to intimidate it. Under the table, he crossed his fingers.

Crowley took the bait. Instead of moving his queen, which was now exposed, he moved the second knight, which was the only thing protecting it. Smiling wide, Cas took Crowley’s queen with his own and slapped it down on the table.

“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t see it!”

“Well, I think _that’s_ a big one, so this is a two-parter. The hell hounds. How’d you do it, and why are they still listening to you? Can’t they just walk away?”

That was more like three questions, but Crowley and his bruised ego were willing to let it slide for this particular opponent. “I picked three of my favorites. of course. And it’s all very technical, but I basically cut them down, right? And compressed them. Then, I wrapped each one in a dead demon sandwich and funneled the whole lot in some more or less susceptible meat suits. As for the loyalty,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a keychain with three small globes hanging from it. “They haven’t got a choice. I took the part of them that makes them loyal, and stuck it in these. I quite literally have them by the balls,” he laughed, returning the items to his pocket. “It’s all very convenient, as I’m sure you can imagine. I’m actually a little surprised at how well it worked out.”

After a moment to ponder his next move, Crowley used his knight to put Cas’s king in check once more. The king advanced toward the offending piece, since Cas had no other move. His heart skipped a beat as he realized what would come next.

Crowley took his queen, too.

“Belt _and socks_ , at least,” he insisted.

With his cheeks flushing red, he obliged, stuffing the socks into his shoes and draping the belt on top. He moved his bishop in aggression toward the knight, which Crowley defended with a simple pawn. Finally, an opening! Cas brought his knight up into the perfect position. Or so he thought. He assumed he would be able to get either the rook or the bishop, but Crowley moved his rook over one space, destroying his plans.

He felt like he could cry. This wasn’t going well at all. He was frustrated and frantic and about to be sans clothing if this kept up. And he still didn’t know where the hell they were.

Fuck it. He would get the question any way he had to. With a wince, he took the bishop and sacrificed his last knight. Exhaling sharply. “What country are we in?”

Crowley pursed his lips. “Italy. That was reckless.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“If you say so, love. Zipper.” He pointed.

With his hands shaking, Cas undid the hooks to his slacks and opened the fly. Trying to focus on the game, he moved a pawn. Crowley’s knight blocked it from going any further. He slid a bishop up, and his opponent dropped a rook down. Another pawn. The demon would have to move his knight if he didn’t want to lose it. But where? He could take a bishop, but he’d lose it to Cas’s rook. He pulled it back and took his hand off the piece.

“Shit,” he muttered. The undressing was a distraction. One he welcomed, but it certainly made errors more likely.

Cas took the knight with a pawn. “Closest city?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Uh, Palermo, I guess.”

Northern Sicily. Cas was so far away from home—cooped up with this creature, while he and his army plotted ways to rid the earth of the Winchesters. It made his chest hurt to think about. “Your move.”

“Right.” He took the pawn with his rook, and Cas was down to just two buttons.

Another pawn up one space. Impatient, Crowley took that, too. One button left. Cas killed a pawn in return. “What if the Winchesters find you before you get them?”

“I’ll kill them.”  Another pawn consumed, this time by a knight, and Cas’s shirt was completely open.

But it was what the angel wanted. That knight’s prior location had been blocking most of his moves. He fell a pawn with a bishop, and threatened the demon’s rook at the same time. “You think it’ll be that easy?”

“Absolutely. I know all about their weapons, and that witch, too. But I’m the King of Hell, dearie, and I’m much better prepared than I was the last time your boys and I crossed paths.”

The rook inched down a space to avoid attack, and Cas slid his king to the right.

When he should have moved his bishop away from the rook. “Fuck.”

“Sloppy! All right, off with it.” He motioned toward Cas’s shirt.

With every nerve in his body screaming in protest, the angel slid out of the garment and tossed it on the floor. He sat uneasy on the cold chair. Crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously did nothing to make him feel less vulnerable.

Bottom rook went two spaces to the left. Without even looking at the game, Crowley selected a pawn. It had no real purpose. He couldn’t stop staring at him. His eyes followed the lines in Cas’s muscles, watched them move just slightly as he fidgeted in the seat. Out of politeness alone, he tried not to drool.

Cas took his knight with a bishop. Another desperate move. It was protected by his own rook, but considering how much Crowley wanted to remove articles of Cas’s clothing, he didn’t think that would matter.

Still, it gave him another question. “Do you care enough for me—to not hurt them if I asked you?”

It took him a long time to answer. Eventually, “Assuming they get this far, I won’t have much choice. Gotta defend myself, Cassie. And I’m pretty sure they’re out for blood at this point.” After another pause, “ _I_ would be.”

As he feared, Crowley took the bishop. Cas had to stand to get the slacks off. And he did, refusing to look at the demon. They dropped to the floor, and he stepped out of them. Only boxers remained. He killed the rook with his own before sitting back down.

“Say you capture and disarm them. Would I be able to convince you to zap them to another part of the world or something, without hurting them?” This line of questioning was not about saving them, though that was on his mind, too. It was about the depth of Crowley’s own feelings. Cas wanted to know how much Crowley would bend for him. And how easily he could be manipulated.

“With you staying?”

Cas nodded immediately, though the prospect of voluntarily deciding to remain with Crowley made him physically ill.

“I could be convinced, under the right circumstances.”


	21. Love is a Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

He castled—grabbing both his king and the previously untouched rook and switching them around to meet in the middle. It was a specialty move that players often employed, though rules about it varied. Cas wanted to object, but he didn’t think it was worth the argument, and anyway, as _he_ usually played, it was legal.

The angel moved his bottommost rook across the board in preparation for taking another pawn. Crowley pushed the pawn in front of his own rook down one space. Taking the piece, Cas told himself to relax. “Then, couldn’t you be convinced to do everything possible to avoid hurting them? Since you’re so much stronger, it shouldn’t be that difficult!”

He moved his rook over one space. “Check. It’s not in my best interest to let them live,” he answered bluntly. “You’ll never stop pining away for them if they’re still breathing, and I don’t have any plans to spend the rest of their lives looking over my shoulder.”

Unable to block safely—and incredibly unwilling to lose his final garment—Cas pushed his king to the right with the side of his index finger. Crowley made a long jump with a pawn along the right side of the board. He couldn’t win with just one aggressive piece. But if he could get a pawn to Cas’s side, he could retrieve his queen.

Cas, of course, had no interest in letting that happen. He took the unsecured pawn with his rook. “Do you love me?” he found himself inquiring. What he should’ve asked was how many demons there were in the mansion at any given time or some other more useful piece of information, but his curiosity got the better of him. He just really wanted to know what Crowley’s response would be. And maybe if he got him a little more emotional, Cas could use it to his advantage.

The demon gripped at his own leg with one hand—and the angel couldn’t help but notice. His lips moved to one side to betray pensiveness, but he didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he stared at Cas for a few seconds before dropping his gaze to the board. Then, “What a fucking question that is,” he muttered in a low voice.

“Answer it,” he demanded. “Truthfully. That’s the deal.”

He glared at him, but his expression softened. It didn’t seem like he could stay angry with Cas, at least not about this. “Yes.” He looked down at the board again. He selected a pawn and moved it aggressively toward one of the rooks. “I have a distaste for the vast majority of the creatures and people that I meet,” Crowley explained slowly. “But not with you, yeah? Not at all.”

Cas took another pawn. The demon had only three left, along with the rook and his king. He thought with relief that he could actually win, and possibly without losing any more pieces. “You think just because you don’t hate me that that means you love me?”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley scoffed. “I’m not a child. I know the difference. But the future I imagine—that I think about all the time and that I’ve been working toward for _years_ now—is you at my side. And what I want, love, is to make certain that happens, and, above all, to make it worth your while. I think that’s a bit different, yes?” He picked up his rook and set it down near Cas’s king, just short of putting him in check.

He killed the third-to-last pawn. The other two were just a couple of moves away. “How? How can you take the people I care about more than anything away from me and think you could still make it worth my while?” The idea was preposterous. And the demon? Clearly delusional. Cas loved Sam and Dean. He would always, always love them. The King of Hell wouldn’t be able to force or convince him otherwise.

No matter what he offered or how long he tried.

Crowley pushed a pawn out of the range of one rook and into that of another. Cas promptly took that one, too. “Do you think I’ll just forget them?” He had to fight to maintain composure. “Check,” Cas proclaimed with anger still seething in his voice.

“You left them more than once in favor of my company,” he pointed out, moving his king into the corner. “Removing them from the equation is exactly how I got you twice before, dearie. Why wouldn’t it work again?”

The game could be over in the next move if Cas wanted, though that would mean the questioning would stop. He held off. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted more questions. Just a few more. Rather than finish it, Cas moved his rook into position to take the last pawn in the next turn.

Stupid.

Fucking stupid.

As on-edge as the demon was, his head was still in the game. His own rook slid in front of one of Cas’s pawns. Sure, Cas would get another question. But in the next move? Crowley would get his last item of clothing.

Could he let that happen?

Retrieving more information could prove vital. And it really did seem like Crowley at least cared whether any direct harm came to him, so maybe a few minutes in the buff wouldn’t kill him.

Or, there could be another route. He could abandon his mission and follow the king, constantly putting it in check. Maybe another chance to take the pawn would present itself. Maybe Crowley would move his rook. Maybe Cas could ask the question without sacrificing what little modesty he had left.

Maybe.

He couldn’t think. “Check,” he called, deciding to go with the third option. The king fled, and he gave chase. “Check,” he said again.

Shit. As the king inched down the board one square at a time, it now threatened one of his rooks. And the only places he could move it to put the king in check would also leave it in danger. He could move it away, of course, and still very likely win the game. But not before Crowley claimed the pawn he currently held hostage.

He gave up. Best to ask his question first, and then suffer the consequences after. He removed Crowley’s last pawn and let out a big sigh. “What would you do if I got away?”

“Well, that’s simple. I’d get you back. And I’d kill anyone who tried to stop me.”

Cas’s heart sank as he watched Crowley take the piece. Waiting impatiently, the demon raised both eyebrows and motioned toward Cas’s boxers.

But he didn’t move to take them off. Breaking the rules, “Would you risk yourself? If it was very likely you could die, would you try anyway?”

Love wasn’t just about keeping someone with you. It was also about what you would do, what you would sacrifice, for them.

“Hey, that’s not what we agreed on, sweetie.”

He gulped. “I have to know.”

Crowley flinched. He had a soft spot for the sort of sad look Cas was giving him now, and it had the nasty effect of making him want to cater to whatever the angel wanted. Still, he had needs, too. And a deal was a deal. “Take them off first, and I’ll tell you.”

He looped one finger into the waistband, but then shook his head. “No.”

The demon sat back in his chair. “Oh, c’mon. Are you really that shy? I can’t imagine you have much reason for it. I’m sure you’re absolutely lovely under there.”

Standing abruptly, Cas scooped up his shirt from the floor. “I’m done with this.” He shoved his arms into the sleeves as quickly as they would go and started fumbling with the buttons. “I don’t know if what you feel is love or not, but keeping me here? Threatening my family? That’s not love. It’s just—torture.”

Crowley rose to his feet and paced over to Cas. He reached for the angel’s hips but stopped himself. He’d promised not to touch him. Though he craved it more than anything in that moment, going back on his word certainly wouldn’t help his case. He left his hands in mid air, a few inches away from him. With a completely serious expression, he made eye contact and held it. “For you, I would,” he said with resolve. “And I’d keep trying until I had you again or one of your friends got lucky enough to kill me. I’d risk everything I have.” He clenched his jaw. “Does that answer your question?”

Cas turned away from him. “Yeah.”

The demon couldn’t help himself. He brought his thumb and forefinger to Cas’s chin and moved the angel’s head so he would have to look at him again. It took every ounce of his willpower not to touch him further. He moved in a little closer, careful to leave a few centimeters between them. He thought it best to let him go, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Just that small amount of contact thrilled him in ways he didn’t think possible. And being this close to him? It was like getting drunk.

Having mostly failed at buttoning the shirt, Cas held it closed with one hand. “It doesn’t bother you that you’ve obsessed about me so much, and pursued me, without getting anything in return? I haven’t given you even the slightest indication that I would ever care for you as much as you say you do for me. Or at all, for that matter.”

His eyelids dropped about halfway, and he did nothing to hide his intoxicated expression. ”Not the slightest indication? Forgetting something, eh, Cassie? You were ready to run off with me once!”

“That was a mistake.”

“Was it? You could have gone anywhere. Done anything. But, dearie, you got lonely, didn’t you? And who did you come to? Who, in all of existence, did you go looking for?” His hand drifted to Cas’s cheek and gripped him there. “Admit it or not, I don’t care, but I’ve got you figured out, love. I know the truth already.”

Maybe he was right.

Maybe Cas did feel something for him, on some level. At the core, this creature should completely repulse him, simply by being what and who he was. And it should’ve been worse with the knowledge of how many people he’d killed to get to Cas and that he was keeping him as a prisoner. But despite all that, he didn’t. Not really. Cas certainly didn’t trust him, and he didn’t love him in any way that could resemble what he felt for his humans. But he _had_ returned to Crowley when the Winchesters wouldn’t take him back. And listening to the demon gush about the lengths he would go for him—while it didn’t win him over, it made him pity Crowley a little.

To the King of Hell, what happened next was unavoidable. Being that close, touching and smelling him, Crowley needed to up the ante. His own memories simply would not let him walk away. They’d kissed twice before. Once for a deal—probably no love there for Cas—and once as a promise. He was sure that the angel wanted him then, and that he enjoyed it.

That brief, enchanting look on his face as he’d accepted Crowley’s offer. It stuck with him. He spent the better part of the five years afterward aching for more.

What came next was inevitable.

He moved gradually, methodically. Though he wanted to throw the angel up against a wall and passionately explore every part of him in every manner he could think of, he did no such thing. Nor did he try any of the fantasies that had occupied his imagination in the years since their last meeting. Instead, he opted for a slow and soft kiss. The kind he thought Cas would appreciate.

Agonizingly gentle. He barely even felt him at first, as his lips brushed against Cas’s. But it was better than nothing, he thought, and it was a good way to begin.

When the angel did not immediately pull away, he continued, pressing deeper and firmer.

He took care not to seem aggressive. He wanted to be. Badly. It was in his nature. When he saw something he wanted, he just took it. But he knew he had to control himself. It was a tragedy, really, that he couldn’t just have him, couldn’t just enjoy everything the creature had to offer for hours on end. But this was the one thing he couldn’t truly have just because he wanted it. He had to work. For Cas. For this gorgeous specimen of angel remnants wrapped up in a stunningly attractive human form. He was worth it. Worth any struggle and annoyance. And much more.

Crowley extended his tongue a little to taste him. Pushing it into Cas’s mouth, he dared go only a fraction of the depth he wanted. Just enough to feel him.

Just enough to get the full experience.

Cas froze. He wasn’t sure what to do. He knew that if he allowed this to go on much longer, he would only encourage the demon further. And he desperately wanted it to end.

In truth, it wasn’t the worst thing. Crowley was an accomplished kisser—he had plenty of practice as a crossroads demon—and there was zero force behind the action. In any other situation, it would just seem spontaneous. Even sweet. But he was little more than a kidnapper and a murderer. And he wasn’t, and could never be, the two humans Cas loved more than anything or anyone, including himself.

He grunted. Placing both hands on Crowley’s chest, He pushed him back enough to end the kiss. His captor let him go entirely and took a step back.

“Missed that,” the demon said with a crooked smile.

Cas blushed, but it was mostly out of guilt. He should have pushed him away sooner or stopped him entirely, a loud voice scolded in his head. What would Dean and Sam think? Could they forgive him? Nevermind that all the deaths were technically because of him. Because the King of Hell had a crush of biblical proportions on some scraps of an angel.

Rather than getting kissed by a demon, he should be finding a mode of escape. And if Crowley vowed to do everything to keep him—well, then Cas had to get rid of him, too. It was the only way he would ever see his partners again.

He just had to think.  What could he possibly use against Crowley?

The hell hound had reluctantly brought him a container of salt—unopened, of course—which he’d requested in case he ever had to ward off another demon attack. While she protested, since his safety was partly her responsibility, she’d acquiesced under pressure. But salt was nothing against someone as strong as Crowley. It would work better against the hounds.

And then he had it.

Breathing in deeply, Cas took a step toward the demon. He smiled a little. It may as well have been painted on. Inside, he was terrified. And part of him didn’t even want this. Crowley’s feelings for him seemed genuine. Real, in his own way. A spark of light escaping from personified darkness.

—That wanted to kill Sam and Dean, he reminded himself. Kill them. Take them away forever. No matter how kind and mild the beast seemed right now. It would always come down to that.

He tangled his fingers in Crowley’s silk tie, staring down at it as though the expensive accessory fascinated him. “There’s a lot about me you don’t even know,” he said without looking up. “What if you don’t like it?”

The demon shrugged. Reaching for him again, he let the side of one hand rest loosely on Cas’s shoulder, near his neck. The tips of his fingers drew circles on his skin. “I don’t think you need to worry about me growing tired of you, love, if that’s what you’re getting at. That’s a bit premature, yeah? We haven’t gotten started! At least not yet.”

Cas tugged on the tie to pull him closer. He didn’t stop until their legs touched. Leaning in close, he halted just short of kissing him. He let his hands walk over Crowley’s stomach and torso. “What would that entail? What would you do? If you could do anything? What would the King of Hell want from me? And what could I give him?”

Too much to name. He tried to kiss Cas again, but the angel moved just out of reach, purposely teasing him. “I would do _everything_ you let me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Cas breathed. “Sky’s the limit. Theoretical only, of course.” He bit into his lower lip coyly. It was a tactic he used practically every day on the Winchesters. And, at this game, he’d literally become an expert. There was a reason people once paid him for this sort of thing. He was incredibly good. “I’m sure you’ve thought about it. What would you do with me?”

After a moment to think, Crowley came up with a few very specific things. “Okay, yeah. Over there,” he motioned with his head toward a piece of wooden furniture with two drawers. “The height’d be perfect.”

“And?”

“And I’d have you right on there. No goin’ easy or holding back. As hard and as long as you can take.” His lips found Cas’s jaw. “And I’d only stop if you begged.”

“What else?” He pretended to be into it, bringing his hands down to Crowley’s belt and running his fingers along the edges. “Am I just getting bent over furniture, or?” He licked his lips.

It was all a distraction. His fingers worked their way into Crowley’s front pockets, caressing his thighs. But there was a much more important purpose. And the moment he touched metal—as the demon was still crafting a creative response—he dropped the charade.

With a yank of his arm, Cas pulled the keychain out and whipped it back. But it took only a second for Crowley to snap out of his seduction-induced haze. He grabbed the angel by the wrist and squeezed until Cas cried out in pain.

His face changed, with anger tingeing every line. And this time it held. “What, exactly, would you do with those, then?” he snarled. “Try and turn them against me? Are you fucking serious?” Rage—and hints of betrayal—engulfed him. He’d said and done things he wouldn’t dream of showing anyone else, and though he knew the angel yearned for freedom, the sensual exchange had convinced him that maybe Cas was considering another option. Him. Being with him.

Though his grip certainly hurt, even now, Crowley held back. It wasn’t powerful enough to break any bones. But Cas could fake a whole host of things. He whimpered. Forced his arm to shake. Pretended to be afraid of him. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I dunno what I—I just—They freak me out. And I figured, umm, if they were gone, maybe you’d have to protect me instead.”

Crowley loosened his hold slightly, but it remained firm. He wasn’t sure if he believed Cas or not. Part of him did, or wanted to. It made sense. The dogs were supposed to be intimidating. That was the fucking point. And he’d seen Cas looking at them with a level of distrust, and even shying away from their help. Perhaps he actually feared them.

But could he believe that the angel really wanted him to take their place? It was nothing but mixed signals. He couldn’t read them, couldn’t come to a solid conclusion.

While he was thinking it over, however, Cas took matters into his own hands. He dropped the keychain—into his other hand. Throwing his entire weight behind the move, he twisted and stretched until a wall was within reach. His fingers extended, and he slammed the glass orbs against plaster as hard as he could.

They shattered.

Crowley let him go abruptly, staring in disbelief at the broken charms on the floor. “Fucking stupid, that is,” he spat. “If you wanted me to send them away, I could have!”

There was a thud as something hit the door. The knob jiggled, but it was locked. Pounding. Scratching.

“Cut the leash and take a wild guess at what happens. They’re gonna come in here. They’re gonna come after both of us! I’d get back.”

The noises were getting louder. Cradling his wrist, which was bruising, Cas stepped away. When he was behind Crowley, he bent down and pulled the canister of salt out from under an ornate chair. The door began to flex in its frame. It would break soon. Moving to a corner, he ripped the packaging open and started pouring salt in a arc until he was fully protected.

Crowley turned to glare at him as the door broke open with a loud crack. The three creatures scrambled across the floor at their former master, eyes black, teeth bared, and fingers gnarled into something like claws. But the King of Hell didn’t take his eyes off of Cas. “When a dog can’t be controlled, you’ve got to put it down.”

He raised one arm, and, with a wave, all three of their heads jerked to the right. Their necks snapped like twigs. They dropped to the floor simultaneously. Motionless.

Effortlessly destroyed.

“Hope you weren’t attached.” His voice sounded much colder and darker than it had been moments before. He walked up to the salt line, keeping his eyes on the angel. “You can come out now.”

Cas looked at the vacant face of the dead girl as guilt flooded through him. She’d been kind enough to him, and the three didn’t so much as scratch the demon. It was all for nothing, and the trust he’d garnered from Crowley was probably obliterated, too. He gulped and shook his head.

“What? Come on, love.”

“I’m not sure I feel safe around you, either.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. So, it _was_ a lie. Cas didn’t want his protection after all. “That’s a shame, since a salt line isn’t a good defense against me.” With a thought, windows on the far wall burst open, and a heavy gust of wind, smelling of sea water, rushed into the room. It easily blew the salt away.

The demon advanced before Cas could replace it. He grabbed him under the jaw and shoved him up against the nearest wall. “You think I’m that easy to get rid of? Are you that fucking stupid? I’m the King of Hell. I made those mutts. I could make an army of them if I wanted to. Think your boys could fight them off, too? Maybe we’ll find out.”

Cas shut his eyes as the reality of the situation set in. He’d made everything a thousand times worse.

“Please,” he eventually got out. “Don’t. I—I’ll do whatever you want. Just, don’t make any more of those things.” He didn’t have to act to show fear. He was terrified. Crowley was more than capable of killing him if he wanted, and worse yet, he could easily send another wave of destruction at the people Cas loved. He didn’t want either to happen. And, in truth, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to prevent it.

Crowley shoved him a little out of anger, but then released him. “It’s practically limitless, what I would do to have you,” he said with more emotion shading his voice than Cas thought possible. “But you’re not payment to me. You’re not currency or a fucking bribe. And I don’t need that from you.”

“Then what do you want?” He kept himself pressed against the wall, holding on as if his life depended on it.

“An equal. A partner!”

“I can’t give that to you.” He gulped. “We will never be equal.”

The demon stared down at the floor and wiped his face with one hand. “Then you have nothing I want.”

With that, Crowley disappeared. At the same time, the bodies of his former protectors vanished, and Cas was completely alone. He moaned, sliding down the wall to the floor. He brought his knees up to his chest, folded his arms over them, and buried his face. All he wanted was this Hell to be over so he could come home. He just wanted to go home.


	22. Grace is Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

He was alone when the text message came in. Cas saying there was a demon, and he was in trouble. Sam immediately tried calling him, but there was no answer. Frantic, he dialed Dean’s number. With each ring, he prayed his brother would pick up. Surely, Dean had already intervened, rescuing their angel and peeling out in his Chevy. Certainly, they were already on their way home, too riled up from the near-miss to notice their phones going off.

But as it went to voicemail, Sam began to fear that whatever was attacking Cas had not only got him, but his soulmate, too.

Ten agonizing minutes later, Dean pulled up in their parking area. The healer rushed to the door—still boarded up from Balthazar’s damage—and swung it open. Getting out nonchalantly, Dean smiled up at him. “Hey there.”  But when he saw his face, his expression immediately grew serious. “Sammy? You okay?”

“Where’s Cas?”

He blinked. “At school, I just dropped him off. Why?”

“You don’t check your phone!”

Getting worried, “Dude, I left it in my workroom. Why? What’s going on?”

“I tried calling you,” his voice got higher as panic set in. “He’s in trouble. Demons. You have to go get him, Dean. Go now!”

He hesitated only a second before whipping himself around and jumping back in his car. The tires squealed and gravel flew into the air as he drove away as fast as possible.

Sam stood on the step, completely unsure what to do with himself. The moment Dean was gone, he wished he’d hopped into the passenger side and gone with him. He couldn’t do anything here. Except wait and worry and try not to think about what might be happening to Cas. Feeling a lump form in his throat, Sam reluctantly went into the house, grabbed his cellphone, and took a seat by the back window.

“Come back to me,” he said to the empty lot outside. “Please?”

***

The Impala rolled up just over an hour later. Sam rose from his seat quickly and stood in the open doorway. He knew the verdict from the look on Dean’s face.

“No,” he muttered, quietly at first. “No. Dean, no. Tell me he’s okay.”

It took him a moment to speak as he slowly got out of the vehicle. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?! He’s either okay, or he isn’t!”

“I said I don’t know, all right?” he snapped. Calming slightly, “He’s just gone. Somebody took him. He’s not—Sammy, he’s not dead. Not as far as I can tell. They just took him.”

“What? Who took him? Dean, who took Cas?!” Sam covered his mouth as dread crept through his whole body.

Gulping, Dean walked slowly to the stairs and climbed up to him. “The cops were already there. And the-uh—some of Cas’s friends, they-uh, they saw him get taken. Dudes with black eyes.” He gave Sam a knowing glance. “A bunch of demons knocked him to the ground, and then all of them were just gone. No trace. Gone.” His voice cracked. “I looked anyway. The whole campus. I couldn’t—I couldn’t find him, Sammy. Couldn’t find any trace of him.”

He spent just as long talking to the police—shakily explaining that he had no idea why someone would kidnap his partner. That Cas had no enemies to speak of, and neither did they. He posed the question of why would someone take him in broad daylight, and he implored the officers to find him.

As to how he knew to come so quickly?

He didn’t. He’d simply forgotten to ask Cas if he’d be available to meet for lunch, and hoped to catch him before his class started. Only to come upon the scene. It was a mix of shock and old habits that allowed Dean to lie so well on cue, even under the most terrible of circumstances.

Sam shook his head. He refused to believe it. “No.”

Dean threw both arms around him and pulled him close. “We’re gonna get him back, okay?” he whispered. “Cas, he’s a lot tougher than we give him credit for. We’re gonna find him, and we’re gonna gank the assholes who took him.”

“I didn’t—Dean, I didn’t even say goodbye to him this morning.” He sniffed and buried his face in Dean’s collarbone. He’d overslept his alarm by twenty minutes and had to rush into the shower to get ready before the morning’s patients arrived. Dean and Cas left while he was getting dressed.

“Shut up,” he ordered, just a hair away from losing it, as well. “Don’t talk like that. He’s not dead. I would know if he was.” As his mind filled with nightmarish possibilities of what a hoard of demons might do to their angel, Dean walked Sam inside and closed the door behind them.

They made it as far as one of the benches before Sam collapsed onto it, bringing Dean with him. “Oh God,” the younger guy cried into his shoulder. “What do we do?”

“I guess we—we call in every favor we have. We find out where he is and who has him, and then we go get him.”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. With Sam as distraught as he was, and Cas God knows where, Dean knew he should try and be strong. But he couldn’t do it. Especially not with the adrenaline, accrued from searching for Cas and then talking to the cops, quickly dispersing. He broke down. Leaning on Sam as much as his soulmate did on him, Dean started sobbing. 

Neither moved from that spot until there was a noise from across the room.

“What happened?”

It was Rosa. She’d heard the yelling and the car doors slamming. And she heard them stumble inside. The house’s walls were thin, and the heating vents amplified certain sounds. She stayed in her room as long as she could keep her curiosity at bay, but before long, she had to go and investigate.

But what she found surprised and confused her. Utterly distraught, the Winchesters clung to each other as though the world were ending. They bawled like children having just experienced something tragic and damaging. And they didn’t even notice when she entered the room. Former hunters, letting their guard down that much.

Grown men.

Her first inclination was to pass judgment on them, or to link this overtly emotional display to their sexual proclivities. But she stopped herself. Look at them, a little voice in her head insisted. Look at what they’re doing. They’re devastated. Afraid. Turning to each other for support. Crying may be childish, but adults knew when to reach out to others if they needed to. Something she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of just yet.

“Fuck off,” Sam barked back at Rosa. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Dean raised his head to look at her. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand before switching his attention to the healer. Sliding both of his hands past Sam’s ears, he brushed some of his hair out of his face. “Shh. It’s gonna be okay, Sammy.” He didn’t hold back at all for her sake. Sam needed him, and he intended to be there as much as he could manage.

She watched them closely. Conflicted, Rosa wasn’t sure how to react. On one hand, knowing what and who they were, the scene sickened her. It wasn’t healthy or right—what they did under the sheets. It was all kinds of wrong.

But she wasn’t blind. They weren’t having sex in front of her. They were crying and consoling each other. They were attempting to combat crushing despair. And while each appeared equally upset, they both seemed to be incredibly concerned with making it just a little better for the other half. Even Sam, who at first just looked to be weeping uncontrollably. He had one hand on Dean’s arm, caressing it with his thumb.

All at once, she had an idea of what could be bad enough to cause this. And she couldn’t believe she hadn’t guessed it sooner. “Is Castiel dead?”

Sam burst into tears again. His soulmate hugged him, resting his chin on the taller man’s shoulder.

“No,” Dean said eventually. “I don’t think so. But he’s gone, and demons are responsible.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little premature to mourn, then? There are plenty of ways to find people who’ve been lost.” She didn’t know why she was trying to help, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Sam didn’t see this as “helping,” however. “Who says we’re mourning? We’re fucking worried. We love him. _Love_. Do you even know what that means? Evil creatures have Cas, and they could be torturing him right now! And we can’t do anything to stop it. And if—if he _does_ die—” He groaned and pressed his forehead against Dean’s. After a moment, he continued in a quieter voice. “If he does die, we’ll never see him again. He’ll be alone and scared and—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Probably for the better. Dean wasn’t sure he could take hearing it.

“That’s what happens when people die,” she retorted. “You lose them. They go away. But Cas isn’t—”

Dean straightened his posture. The conversation wasn’t helping anyone, and he longed for it to end as quickly as possible. “Not us. Remember that soulmate thing we kinda mentioned about half a million times? Well, we’ve got a free one-way ticket upstairs because of it, but there’s only room for two. Cas dies, and he’s gone. We die, and we keep going forever. And we get all that time to think about him not being with us.”

He couldn’t think of a worse punishment than to lose one of his partners and then be forced to spend a conscious eternity without him.

Rosa had no idea about any of this. By the way Dean spoke, it was a real problem that plagued him often. Like he thought about it every night before falling asleep. Like pangs of heartache struck him at every turn.

Like they spent much of their lives trying to make sure the angel stayed alive and healthy on Earth, so that he could be with them for as long as possible.

The prospect of losing him was enough to bring them to tears because they were close to it already.

She felt like an idiot for not picking up on it earlier. It made perfect sense. It explained Dean’s over-protectiveness and how shaken the incident with the glass shard made him after the fact. It even helped her understand why they retired. If you’re terrified of losing someone you love, you would want a stable place where safety would be easier to develop.

“I can help you find him,” she said as softly as she could muster. “Let me help.”

They both glared at her. “What could you do?” Sam was skeptical.

She lifted her head in an attempt to convey confidence. “I know more than a dozen spells that could help us locate him. I can start right away.”

“Do it,” Dean returned immediately.

She nodded, and strode quickly up to her room to retrieve some supplies. Among them were a massive historical book of spells, some candles, and a black bowl made out of anthracite. Rosa balanced the items carefully and took her time bringing them downstairs. She set the book and candles down and brought the bowl into the kitchen to fill it with water.

Taking a seat on Sam’s desk, she opened the book and started paging through it. The Winchesters walked up to her and looked over her shoulder. There were pages and pages of spells, most with only a few paragraphs of explanation. She’d circled some, crossed out most of them, and placed a question mark next to a few. They were annotated, highlighted, and obsessively color-coordinated.

She could practically feel their curiosity.

“This wasn’t written by witches,” she explained absently as she searched. “You can buy it in a basic bookstore. It’s just a compilation of all the known spells the researchers could find. They wrote them down exactly how they found them. I’ve written a few more in the back.” When she found the right page, she set the text down. “I’ve had this book since I was a teenager. There are thousands of spells in here, but most of them don’t work. Either they’re bull, or they’re wrong, or a piece is missing. Or an item needed is fucking impossible to find. Some plants mentioned are actually extinct. For others, I’d have to be an idiot to try. But there’s a bunch that do work. The ones I circled.”

She pointed to a group of three in a row that got that treatment. “These work. They’re for scrying. Uh, for seeing things. Top one is for stuff that’s already happened. Middle employs a ghost or creature through which you can see. Bottom puts an eye in the room. I can do all of them. I’ll start with the last one.”

“And you’ll see where he is? So we can go get him?” Dean sounded so broken and desperate. At first, she found it a little pathetic, but the more she looked at him and Sam, her opinion changed. They were worried about someone they cared about. How could she really fault them for it?

“That’s the idea.” She picked up the bowl and set it in her lap. “I need you to close the blinds, and I need something that belongs to Cas.”

Dean chose the first request, and Sam took off for a small closet near the front door. He pulled out an old tan trenchcoat and brought it over as the room got dark. She dipped part of the sleeve in the water, before staring intently into the bowl. “A posse ad esse, ab initio ad infinitum. In distans, magnificat. Dominus providebit, fons et origo. Fiat lux. Fiat lux. Ita est.”

“ _From possibility to actuality, from the beginning to infinity without end. At a distance, it magnifies. The Lord will provide, the source and the origin. Let there be light. Let there be light. It is so._ ”

But as she looked into the depths of the dark water, nothing appeared. She’d done this spell a hundred times. It was one of her favorites exactly because of how reliable it always proved to be. But something was clearly wrong. She straightened her back. “Hmm.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Panic crept into Sam’s voice. “Is he hurt?”

“The spell’s not working. Either I’m blocked, or—” Unlikely, since this was a little-known spell that required evoking God, or at least heavenly power. “—Is this really Cas’s?” She lifted up the coat.

“Yeah,” Sam blinked. “I bought it for him. Right when we first met. He used to wear it all the time. Still does now and then. It, umm—it makes him feel better.” And he loved, absolutely loved, making him feel better. Healing the little ailments. Cheering him up or calming him down. Sam lived for that.

She sighed. “That’s the problem, then.” Clearing her throat, she ran her finger along the edge of the bowl. “He doesn’t really _own_ this. It’s a gift from you. It’s yours. It makes him think of you. I need something _he_ bought. Even if he doesn’t use it. I know, it’s pro-capitalist B.S., but that’s how a lot of these spells work. Don’t ask me why. I have no idea.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other with sad expressions. Cas rarely bought things for himself, since he had no income of his own. And anyway, they relished in buying him things on the rare occasions where he needed or wanted something they didn’t already have. What could they possibly give her?

Then, the healer came up with one. He reached into his desk and pulled out a small ornate lighter with some Japanese writing on one side and a cartoon wing on the other. When Cas’d left them all those years ago, Sam found it in his abandoned belongings. He’d kept it to use on hunts and, he knew now, because he’d missed Cas, too. Sam wasn’t sure the angel even knew he still had it.

“Would this work?” he asked pessimistically. “He hasn’t used it in years, but we didn’t buy it for him.”

She shrugged. “Worth a try.”

With the base of the lighter, she stirred the water before setting it aside. She spoke louder this time. “A posse ad esse, ab initio ad infinitum. In distans, magnificat. Dominus providebit, fons et origo. Fiat lux. Fiat lux. Ita est.”

Sure enough, the barest hints of an image began to appear on the surface. Castiel tied to a chair.

“Is it working?” Dean asked after a few arduous seconds. The brothers saw nothing but dark water. The spell would only give sight to the caster. She nodded but didn’t say anything to him.

There was another man—a demon—there, and they were talking. But she couldn’t hear a word of it. “Permissum mihi audio,” she ordered. Moments later, the sounds of their voices filled her ears.

She listened. The two seemed to know each other. Though she attempted to just absorb the information, her mouth dropped open as a clear picture of what was truly going on presented itself. It wasn’t at all what the Winchesters thought. Their whole understanding about the war and the demons—the basic information on which they operated—was fundamentally incorrect. The motives were a lot simpler.

They weren’t going to like it.

“Who’s Crowley?” she asked after a few minutes.

Both of the soulmates’ eyes widened at the same time. “Wait, what?” Dean spoke first.

“Crowley’s the one who’s doing this?” Sam followed soon after. “Is Cas okay?”

“Yep. He’s got your angel in a house somewhere. It doesn’t look like they even roughed him up too much. I’m not sure where they are. They didn’t talk about it, but there are other ways to find out.” As the conversation ended, and the demon left, Rosa sat the bowl down and got up. “So, who is he? Some high level demon? I take it he and Cas have a little, uh, history? That’s what this is about?”

The way they spoke would’ve been enough, along with how they looked at each other, but their words confirmed it. Plain as day. All of this was about the demon being romantically, or at least sexually, interested in Castiel.

Obviously very much so, given that he was prepared to start a war over it.

Dean dropped into a chair. He looked pale. Sam rubbed his arm in an attempt to reassure him, but he doubted it would do any good. “He’s the King of Hell,” the healer explained as Dean winced. “He tried to take Cas once before, but we stopped him. That was years ago. I guess we thought,” he gulped, “that he’d given up.”

What? The _King_ of Hell? As in, of all demons? It took her a moment to process. “I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to explain this a little more for me. I think we’re having a communication issue here. Your angel knows the biggest baddest demon on the block, who just so happens to have the hots for him, and it didn’t occur to you that the army attacking us might be doing so at their boss’s command?!”

Dean groaned. “We have a lot of enemies. And they came after Sam first. I thought—I mean, okay, yeah, maybe we fucked up. Maybe I fucking hand-delivered Cas, unarmed, to the devil.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sam cut in bravely. He knew his brother would most certainly disagree, but he didn’t care. They couldn’t know that Crowley was behind this, nor did they have any reason to think Cas was the target. It made just as much sense, if not more, that Sam and his business were the reasons behind the demon infestation. Sure, Dean would always blame himself, but Sam didn’t think either of them were responsible.

His soulmate peered up at him with pain emanating outward, like heat from hot asphalt. Sam could feel it. More than just fear, it was deeper. A kind of agony that broke him. Dean was convinced that this would be the end of Cas or that they would never see him again. And he thought for sure he’d personally hammered the last nail into the coffin. Even hearing that Cas was alive and well didn’t seem to help.

Sam wanted to understand. He wanted to relate. He was worried about Cas, too, but not like this. Dean didn’t seem okay at all. He looked as though he’d just found out he was dying. And to Sam’s internal senses, he _felt_ sick, like any one of his patients felt sick. Something was seriously, terribly wrong. He was injured. Emotionally, mentally injured.

He raised one hand and brought it toward the side of Dean’s forehead, but the ex-hunter caught him by the arm and stopped him from touching skin. “I’m fine,” he nearly growled.

“No, you’re not,” Sam countered softly. He wasn’t even sure he could fix it with his power, but he certainly wanted to try. “Dean, let me help, okay? Please.”

But he shook his head. “Dude, Cas is alone. That son of a bitch has him, and every second he’s there, he’s in danger. I’m not gonna calm down until we have him back. That’s just how it is, Sammy. I’ll be good when he’s home. I will. But we have to save him first.”

Sam wasn’t so sure. This condition had been brewing for some time, and though the kidnapping definitely made it worse, the underlying problem would not be resolved by rescuing their angel. Because Cas would still be completely mortal. And that was what bothered Dean more than anything else. It gave him nightmares, robbed him of his once unrelenting appetite—and now seemed to contribute to a depression so deep-rooted that Sam didn’t know if he’d even be able to fix it.

Before he could argue further, Rosa rejoined the conversation. “If we’re gonna get him back, I need to know what you know about this Crowley guy. Everything. My hunch is that maybe we should kill the fucker and every little shithead he employs. Sound like a good plan?”

Both of them nodded.

“So, what do we know about him?”


	23. Trip Through Your Wires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

The duo filled Rosa in on the King of Hell as best they could. Cas didn’t talk about the supped-up crossroads demon all that much, up to and including his interactions with him. Dean preferred to avoid thinking about the time that Cas left them, so he never brought it up or inquired. And while Sam was more curious, the angel didn’t get specific. He simply said that it was incredibly brief, and that Balthazar helped him put an end to it.

They knew the guy was strong, and that he commanded an army of demons. This much was obvious already. Sam remembered that Crowley seemed fairly calm for a demon, and that he liked some of the finer human offerings, such as liquor, tailored suits, and home décor. He was resilient—much stronger than most of the other demons either brother had ever encountered—but not unkillable. Dean’s special holy water bullets worked wonders. And they had no doubt that Rosa’s sword would get the job done, too, along with the Colt.

But the witch still couldn’t pinpoint exactly where Cas was being held. A different scrying spell, which involved a map and a crystal dangling from a chain, only gave them a general idea. Somewhere in southern Europe or northern Africa. If they wanted to get desperate, she could try wrangling a spirit of some kind that could tell her where the angel was. But that came with a host of likely problems, and the idea didn’t sit right with a couple of former hunters.

So, Rosa spent the better part of the next few days sitting in the dark, wrapped around her seeing bowl. She watched and listened for any word or sign of where exactly Castiel might be. She alternated now and then using a candle-based technique—mostly to prevent boredom.

And she tried to only deliver good news.

Some things she kept to herself. It wouldn’t help anyone to know, for instance, about Castiel’s first failed escape attempt and subsequent beating by a gang of demons. She watched it all on the edge of her seat, worried she might be witnessing his death. When another creature intervened, she breathed a sigh of relief, however, and was incredibly happy to watch the angel recover.

She didn’t think her housemates needed to hear about the less than subtle things Crowley was doing to try and win Cas over romantically, either. The care he took with the angel’s wounds being a good example. He touched Castiel a lot, and it made her cringe. And not because of their outward appearances or propensity toward males. Not this time. It bothered her for the exact reason that it should.

Castiel was a captive prisoner.

Over time, Rosa began hating even the way the demon looked at him. She found herself becoming protective. Every time the hostage interacted with one of the creatures and things got heated, she swore at the bowl, knowing full well they couldn’t hear her. “Back off,” she demanded when one of the demons—scratch that, a hell hound in a human body—got too close to Castiel. “Just turn around and leave,” she told Crowley as he hesitated at the door.

She, of course, only did it when the Winchesters were not within earshot. But she spent a surprising amount of time alone with her work. And with good reason. Since they couldn’t see what she did, every facial expression worried them. And Dean seemed to be getting more and more unstable. So maybe they stayed away to keep the anxiety down.

When they were around, they asked a lot of questions, and she answered, though typically with only a few words. How was he? _Fine._ Were they feeding him? _Of course._ Any leads? _Nope_.

There were no breaks for days. But then Cas himself found a way.  She smiled. “There we go.”

“What is it?” Sam asked with tired eyes from across the room. Dean hadn’t been sleeping, and the healer couldn’t bear to get a good night’s rest knowing that his brother couldn’t, and that their angel probably wasn’t, either.

“They’re on an island,” she said confidently. They’d suspected this already, given the angel’s beachside walk. She left out what happened after.

Sam got up and paced over to her. “How do you know that?”

“Cas’s smart. He’s got the demon playing chess with him. Every time he gets one of the guy’s pieces, he asks a question. Crowley has to answer. First one right off the block. Good boy.” She was genuinely proud of him. It’d seemed like he was giving up for awhile, but this was clever.

Rosa had no interest in explaining the situation further, though. It was all painfully clear. What Crowley wanted in return. What could happen. She knew the others would lose it if they knew. But she couldn’t deal with that now. She had to focus. Missing a single word might mean days more that Castiel had to spend with this creep. And she refused to let that happen.

The angel didn’t even like her, and until recently, she could hardly stand him. But watching him for days straight, monitoring his safety and witnessing him try his best in an impossible situation—along with watching his lovers fall apart—it made her root for him. She wanted to see him succeed, see him come home safe.

And she absolutely hated this asshole Crowley. Despised him with every ounce of energy she possessed. He made her skin crawl, and he infuriated her. This was the creature responsible for her plan failing and all those hunters dying. And for what? To abduct a more or less completely defenseless angel in an attempt to coerce him into a one-sided, unhealthy sexual relationship? It made her sick. It was truly disgusting.

By comparison, what the trio did in their free time was practically innocent. It still bothered her, but faced with Cas being in constant danger from this monster, with very little at his disposal to defend himself—God, all she wanted was to kill this bastard and get the angel back to his lovers.

“Italy!” she shouted the moment Crowley said it. “They’re in Italy.” A few moves later, “Palermo? I dunno where that is. Can one of you look it up? He says they’re near a city called ‘Palermo.’ It’s a small island, probably with just one big mansion on it.”

Sam picked up his phone and started searching. “That’s in Sicily, I think.”

Though Dean was in the room, he didn’t say or do anything right away. He just sat there, half-studying his partner as he looked through satellite maps.

Rosa kept watching. The game degraded, with Cas switching to emotional questions, and Crowley scoring more and more items of clothing. She followed it not because she thought it might be useful but because she was genuinely afraid for Cas’s safety. And he was, too. She could read it on his face.

“What’s he asking now?” Sam inquired, zeroing in on two possible candidates for the location.

She wasn’t sure how much she should say, but she couldn’t think of a good method to dodge it, either. “He wants to know if there’s any way he could convince Crowley not to hurt you two if and when you came to rescue him.”

“What does he say?”

“It’s not in his ‘best interest.’”

Dean let out a scoff.

Rosa turned back to the scene. The images were blurry from her own lack of focus, so she had to think hard about the spell for things to get clear again. A headache began to form just above her eye.

Soon enough, Cas was down to just his underwear, and the demon was confessing undying devotion to him. Rosa didn’t buy it, and it seemed at least outwardly that Castiel didn’t, either. But when Crowley took another piece, things got interesting. Cas refused to get completely naked, asked another question, and stood up. After some back and forth, Crowley approached the angel and moved in far too close for comfort.

She covered her mouth with one hand, and tried desperately not to react as the creature kissed Castiel. Her free hand gripped the bowl tightly. She thought about ending the spell or stirring up the water so she wouldn’t have to watch the terrible, almost inconceivable things she knew would surely happen to him. Holding her breath, Rosa looked away and dulled her hearing while the interaction continued to play out in her lap. She silently acknowledged with a sick feeling in her stomach that when it was all over, she would have to tell the Winchesters what happened. They deserved to know. They loved Cas. If any harm came to him—

But it ended as soon as it began. She looked with disbelief as it seemed now they were arguing. That Cas had— _oh_. The angel must’ve gotten hold of the binding charms Crowley’d waved around earlier. The ones that controlled the hell hounds. And he’d smashed them. He’d gotten close to him in order to take it, she surmised. Smart. Really smart.

She heard loud banging as the creatures tried to claw their way into the room. Her breathing quickened. They could easily rip the angel to shreds, too. But Cas put himself in the corner with salt as a barrier. Maybe he had a chance. Maybe this would be the end of the King of Hell.

Rosa bit into her finger to keep from making any noises. With little more than a motion of his arm, Crowley killed all three, and their bodies dropped like stones. And then he turned his rage on Castiel. She starting breathing quicker. Fear of the possibility that Cas could die any minute took hold of her. But she wasn’t very good at hiding her concern.

Sam narrowed his eyes in her direction. “Rosa, what’s happening?”

“Castiel tried to escape. It didn’t work,” she answered plainly, choosing the truth this time. “The demon isn’t very happy.”

The healer looked over at Dean before responding. “Is he hurting him?” he asked in just above a whisper.

Rosa kept her eyes locked on the water as Crowley threatened to make an army of hell hounds in human suits and sick them on the Winchesters. Her heart sank when she heard Cas, clear as day, offer himself as a bribe to prevent it. “Not yet,” she said carefully.

But luck was on the angel’s side. The King of Hell turned the offer down and departed, leaving Cas to his own devices in the room.

She let out a sigh of relief. “He’s fine.”

Setting the bowl down, she rubbed at her eyes. When she looked at Sam, he smiled at her weakly, but it couldn’t hide that he was only barely holding things together. He desperately needed a good night’s sleep, and he was almost as worried for his soulmate as he was for the angel. She turned her attention to the older man, who sat alone at the other end of the room. God, he was twice as bad. He stared off into nothing. The news of Cas being all right didn’t even seem to register.

“I think I—I think I know which island it is,” Sam said eventually, handing over his phone. “The one in the middle.”

She zoomed in as far as it would go. Sure enough, there was a single mansion on the small island, and it had everything she’d seen—the garden, the path around the shore, the rooms in approximate order and size. “Yep. That’s it.”

Suddenly, Dean rose to his feet. “Good. Show me where to land, and we can go right now.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Sam put up both of his hands. “We need a plan first.”

“We’ll need a lot more than that,” she said sternly. “I’m not taking two half-dead, underprepared, completely useless in battle ex-hunters into demon HQ. I may as well bring you to a slaughterhouse.”

Dean’s upper lip twitched, betraying a deep anger. “You’re not taking us anywhere. I am. Just show me where, and you can sit your little ass out while we go save Cas.”

Sam felt dizzy. “Dean, we can’t rush into this. If we get killed—”

“We’re not gonna get killed!” His voice seemed to roar in the otherwise quiet room.

“Yes, you are,” Rosa countered. “Don’t be an idiot. When was the last time you were in combat with anything? Hell, when was the last time you fired a gun? You took yourself out of the game, remember? You’re rusty. Weak. You’re not strong enough to go toe-to-toe with Crowley. He’ll eat you alive and thank you for makin’ it so easy for him.”

“Fuck you,” he growled. “We have to go get him. That’s the whole reason we’re fucking doing this.”

She stood up and walked about half the distance toward him. “You think you could take the King of Hell? With no practice? Go from _Home Improvement_ to _Rambo_ without doing anything at all? Yeah, right. You’re being ridiculous. I could whoop your ass right now if I wanted to. No weapons or powers.”

Dean strode up to her with fire behind his eyes. “Bullshit.”

“Huh.” She kicked off her shoes and removed a heavy necklace, setting the latter on Sam’s desk. “Prove it, then.”

“Guys, please,” Sam pleaded, but neither of them heard him.

The older man shrugged. He sauntered a little closer to Rosa, feigning disinterest. But she could see the muscles in the right side of his body tense up. It was an obvious tell. One that a trained hunter still working regularly would likely know to suppress. A good one would, anyway. When he moved to strike her with that arm—a straight punch to her jaw—she dodged it. “See what I mean?”

But he didn’t stop there. He came at her like a drunk in a bar fight, swinging wildly in the hopes of connecting somewhere.

She blocked and dodged. “You’re not even focusing at all,” she scolded, breathing heavy. As punishment, she kneed him in the stomach. “Calm down.”

He pushed her. Hard. But she skidded to a stop just short of connecting with the far wall. Rosa didn’t really want to fight him. She just wanted to show him that he wasn’t ready. But it seemed that he not only intended to prove her wrong, but that he also planned to take out his anger and pain on her.

So be it. She hadn’t fought anything in weeks, and she missed the thrill.

Rosa advanced with her arms up. The two danced a little as she tried to find a good approach. Left side. He guarded it about half as well as the right. She would fake with a punch to the right shoulder, and then kick the opposite side. But when she went to carry out the attack, Dean jumped to the left, turned, and tripped her.

Since it was no sparring ring—but rather, the large room Sam used to heal people—the floor was not padded in the slightest. It was hard wood. She landed on her back painfully.

Groaning, “That’s better!” She got up stiffly and brushed herself off. “But it’s still not gonna be good enough.”

She darted toward him but pulled back at the last moment. Two steps. A little hop to switch her weight to the other foot. Now the big one. She jumped into the air, bringing her leg around—to kick him squarely on the jaw. Her landing could’ve been more graceful, but it got the job done. Dean fell awkwardly to his side.

Moaning, “What the fuck was that?!”

“That was a roundhouse kick to the face.” She strode up to him and, with one foot, turned him onto his back. “And it’s nothing compared to what that monster who has your angel would do to you if he got the chance.” She reached down, grabbed him by the hair, and lifted his head off the floor. “Think this hurts, boy? Can you imagine what the King of Hell would do? Don’t be stupid.” She let him go and walked away.

Sam rushed to his side to heal the damage. As per Dean’s request, he didn’t touch any of the mental anguish. Just the bruising. “Was that really necessary?!”

“I’d say so.” She wasn’t going to let the duo get themselves killed just because Dean wanted to rush in unprepared. “Your cowboy brother needed some sense knocked into him.”

Dean’s bright eyes pierced through her. “How long do you propose we sit around on our asses while Cas is in danger?”

She snorted in contempt. “At least a few days. Long enough to get your groove back. Both of you need real sparring sessions. Target practice. Work on endurance. And you two need to get some real rest.”

“Cas is gone!” Dean thundered back at her. “How the hell am I supposed to sleep?!”

Sam wrapped one arm around him and kissed the side of his head.

Rosa picked up the necklace and put it back on. Crystals and small metal plates came to rest across her chest. With a sigh, she sat down on the floor to be at eye level with the Winchesters. “That’s exactly why you need to rest. Who would be a better fighter? One that’s eaten enough, slept, and practiced, or one that’s running on fumes and rage? Which kind of soldier does Castiel deserve to rescue him?”

Groaning, Dean wriggled out of Sam’s arms and stood up. “Three days. Tops,” he insisted. “Cas needs us whether we’re ready or not.”

He was right. As much as she thought they required at the very least a week to retrain, based on what she’d seen, Rosa wasn’t sure Castiel would make it that long. Especially now with the hell hounds no longer protecting him. Sighing, “Then, we better get to work.”


	24. Point Blank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Cas awoke with a start. It was midmorning, and light already filled the room. Reluctant to leave his quarters without an escort—and he now had none—he passed the time by sleeping more, taking long showers, and staring out the window at the garden below. He felt like a caged bird in a house full of cats.

But something had pulled him out of his slumber. A noise? A dream? He wasn’t certain.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was starving. Food still arrived regularly, but not at his request. It was simply placed outside of his door. The deliverer would knock, but by the time he got there, the demon responsible would be gone. If breakfast had come, it would’ve been hours ago, and if anything was meant to be hot, he’d have to eat it cold.

Crowley kept his distance. In the days after the fight, the angel saw him only once. He’d taken a seat in the garden below in order to read a newspaper and drink tea. Cas watched him the whole time, and he wondered silently if Crowley chose that particular spot because it was close to him.

Cas jumped out of bed and crossed the room to the door. He opened it carefully, looking out. Sure enough, the only thing there was his morning meal. He picked up the tray and brought it in, kicking the door closed. He sat down in a large chair and balanced the food on his lap. Today’s offering was toast with butter, cold bacon and scrambled eggs, and a cut apple. Orange juice. No tea to speak of. But it was still food, and he was hungry.

He piled the meat and eggs onto the toast and ate it all at once. The apple ended up being dessert, and he gulped the juice down with disinterest. Once the tray was returned to where he found it, Cas went for a shower. He was halfway through when he heard someone speaking.

“…I’m not gonna tell him that.” A pause. “No, we stick to the plan.”

Hesitating only long enough to get all the shampoo out of his hair, Cas shut off the water. “Hello?” he inquired. “Is someone there?”

Louder now, “Castiel? Can you hear me?”

He blinked. “Who is this? Who’s speaking? Wait— _Rosa_?”

“Yup, it’s me.” It’d taken three separate spells working all at once to pull this off. One to make certain her voice could carry, one to guarantee only Castiel heard it, and one to ensure no one could sense it was happening. “We’re coming for you, in a few minutes. Me and the other two. We’re gonna drop in right outside, okay?”

“What? No! It’s not safe,” he warned, grabbing a towel.

“We know. We’re coming anyway. But I need you to get out of that house, all right? Can you get down from your room and run toward the shore? We’ll scoop you up and take off.”

Cas darted into the main room and started throwing clothes on. He opted for the easiest items: a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Shoes followed soon after—the sneakers he had on when he was taken. He strode up to the window and looked out. It was deserted, but that didn’t mean it would be for long, and since he’d escaped this way once before, they might be watching it more closely. “I think so,” he said in a low voice. “Tell me when.”

Rosa walked over to the Winchesters, who sat nervously in the dining room. They were already equipped. At least three guns per person, all loaded with holy water bullets, save for one: the Colt. The kill-anything gun. One of Dean’s more prized possessions, it was a singular aspect about this plan that gave Rosa any comfort and confidence in its success. Over the last few days, it became clear that Dean—and Sam, too—were still very good shots. And if this gun, which required its own special bullets, could live up to its reputation, then she thought it would be invaluable against the King of Hell.

She was packing heat, too. They insisted she carry a gun in addition to her sword. So, she selected a rifle for long range, since she vastly preferred the sword when things got up-close and personal.

With her breath catching in her chest, she set her scrying bowl down and mumbled the words to a past-seeing spell. When it worked, she instructed the bowl to show the ex-hunters what Cas’d seen when he was by the shoreline. She pointed. “Put us right there.”

Dean nodded, standing. He didn’t, as a rule, fly to places he’d never been before, nor did he travel that far, but to save Cas? He’d do anything.

She turned back to her other active spells—God, it was exhausting trying to focus on all of them at once—and cleared her throat. “Go now, Castiel. As fast as you can.” To conserve her energy, she waited only a few seconds in case there was a reply before unfocusing completely on all of the spells, and thus breaking off communication entirely. She put one hand on Dean’s shoulder.

The angel didn’t have to be told twice. He scrambled through the open window and down the side of the building. He didn’t bother zigzagging or hiding too much as he darted through the familiar garden. If the witch and his companions were going to be there to retrieve him, he’d certainly reach them before anyone in the house caught up. With the first glint of optimism entering his mind in days, Cas burst through an opening in the hedge and headed toward the sea.

In the blink of an eye, the three were on the small island north of Sicily. Cas saw them right away. They stuck out against the flat horizon of the water. It was a little while longer before they saw him, running as fast as he could make his human body go.

He smiled wide when he got close enough to make out basic features of the rescue party. He recognized Sam first, his hair moving in the breeze. Dean stood rigid with a gun pointed toward the ground. And Rosa, with a rifle strapped to her back, held both hands above her eyes to shield against the sun.

But before he could reach them, he heard a loud pop. At first, Cas thought it was some sort of gunshot, but in the next instant, an arm reached out and grabbed him at the stomach. With far more strength than Cas possessed, the assailant not only stopped him in his tracks but pulled him a few paces back until there was no space between them.

He knew who it was just by the smell. Whiskey and enough cologne to hide the hints of sulfur on his skin. When Crowley spoke, Cas didn’t flinch. “Now, where do you think you’re headed, love?”

Cas gulped. “Back to the people I care about.”

The three collectively approached with wary eyes fixed on the demon. Dean raised the Colt and pointed it at Crowley’s head. “Let him go, asshole.”

With his other hand, the King of Hell brought a blade to Cas’s throat, though he did not let the metal touch him. It was a silver straight razor with an ivory handle that he often used to shave. Not for need but out of the pleasure of the act. But he wielded it as an elegant weapon just as easily. “Now, why would I do that? Cassie and I are going on holiday. See you around.”

The angel heard a strange buzzing on the edge of his inner senses. He thought for sure Crowley would just transport him away again, to some far-off hideout, and his rescuers would have to start all over. But as he looked around, the scenery didn’t change. And all at once, he knew why.

Rosa.

She stood with her arm outstretched, palm facing them, and a fierceness in her expression that Cas had never seen before. Her head tilted to the side slightly, and her eyes focused entirely on Crowley. “Don’t think so,” she growled from behind clenched teeth. Her power could stop the demon from moving just as it could hurdle an object through the air or make the foundations of a building tremble.

But it was draining. The King of Hell fought her. He pushed against her psychic grasp, slammed his own power against it. And he was so strong.

“Looks like you’re stuck!” Dean made himself smile, though inside he was a turbulent mix of rage and paralyzing fear. “So, why don’t you let him go before I blow your head off?”

“You really think you’re that good of a shot? That you can hit me with that and not your precious angel? Are you willing to take the risk? There’s no healing from a gun like that, is there? I don’t think you have it in you, boy. And I’d slice him up before I’d hand him over to you. So, back off!” Crowley shouted across the open space between them.

He could feel the demon’s breath on his ear as he made the threat. But Cas knew Crowley was just buying time. Waiting for the witch to falter or run out of steam. Which, by the pained look on her face, wouldn’t be too long. With his heart racing, Cas made a counter argument. “Don’t listen to him, Dean! He won’t hurt me. He won’t dare. Just shoot him!”

The angel’s instruction was promptly cut off as Crowley moved his empty hand up from Cas’s stomach and covered his mouth to silence him.

Blood dripped from Rosa’s nose. She wanted to try and force the creature away from Castiel, but that seemed increasingly impossible. It took everything she had to stop him from fleeing. And it might take a lot more than she was capable of to keep them there for as long as they needed to dispatch him. But she wholly intended to try.

And the other two were going to help as much as possible.

Sam drifted over and put his hand on her shoulder. He gave Rosa a shot of the healing energy to stop the nosebleed, and remained at her side in case any other symptoms presented themselves.

Dean, on the other hand, took several steps toward Cas and his abductor. He kept the gun aimed right between Crowley’s eyes. His arm didn’t waver or shake in the slightest. “There’s no way out for you, man. Not with your hands on him. You let Cas go, you son of a bitch. Now!” He cocked the gun entirely for effect. It would’ve been better to do it right off the bat, but Dean found that the sound of it usually unnerved the intended target, human or not.

“Shoot him!” Rosa called with impatience lacing her voice. She wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer.

But Dean couldn’t make himself pull the trigger. He was as close as he dared get, and under any other circumstance, he would’ve just taken the fucker out. No hesitation. No second-guessing. But it was like the demon said. He couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t force himself to put Cas in any more danger. Couldn’t stand the idea that not only might he lose him for good, but it would be his fault.

Sam knew it, too. All it took was one look at his soulmate, and he just knew Dean would choke. Which meant that when Rosa ran out of juice, the King of Hell would abscond with Cas again, and this time, they might never find him. In a low voice, “Rosa.” His whole body began to shake. “Rosa, you have to—you have to do something. A spell or, I dunno. Get him away from Cas.”

“I can’t,” she whispered back. Rosa didn’t know any spells that would work with just words in this scenario. She had only her extra ability, and it would soon fail her.

And Sam’s summation of his brother seemed to be dead on. Though Dean and Crowley exchanged goading words a few more turns as Cas tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free, it wasn’t going anywhere. And despite being plenty close, the ex-hunter refused to discharge his weapon. He was the only one near enough to do it. Sam could try and advance, but Rosa doubted he’d be within a safe range before her power gave out.

Rosa sighed. There was one other possible option, but it was risky to even mention.

She had to do it.

“Pump some more of that energy into me,” Rosa instructed slowly.

“How will that help? You’re not sick or injured.”

“I know. Tell it—uh—” She hesitated. As far as any of them knew, this was just a spell. Not something she’d had essentially since birth. Not something completely unexplained and quite possibly inhuman. They didn’t know it was a part of her. And they never had to know.

And she could let that monster take Castiel again? Take him from the people who fell apart simply at the thought of losing him?

She wasn’t the sentimental type, but a cold, heartless crime that big—she really would be inhuman then. “Try—telling it to replenish my ability to-uh, to move stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ability?”

“We’re running out of time,” she dodged.

Sam shrugged. He could ask her about it later. Or not. It really didn’t matter. What mattered was saving Cas, and their chances of doing so were slipping away as they spoke. He grabbed her wrist and shut his eyes. There was plenty of energy to share. He reached deep down and poured it into her. With a little searching, Sam found the mechanism by which she was able to move things. It was weird. Extra. Different and strange and somehow kind of familiar. Like he’d sensed something similar before. But he had no idea where or when.

Regardless, it seemed like a gas tank that needed to be refilled. So, he turned on the pump.

Rosa let out a gasp that could’ve sounded, under another less dire circumstance, like something sexual. What she felt was nothing short of extraordinary. Her batteries fully recharged in an instant. Power surged through every nerve and cell in her body. It was more than she ever felt on her best day. Better than any past healing. It was intoxicating. Whatever Sam did, it made her stronger. More in control.

Solidly, efficiently powerful.

Crowley’s fighting no longer hurt or fatigued her. It wasn’t even a struggle. She lifted her arm a little higher and approached him. Squeezing her hand closed and pulling it back, Rosa used her power to take hold of the demon’s arms and pry them away from Castiel. And then she shoved. As hard as she could.

The King of Hell went flying back several meters. He landed in the dust near the entrance to the garden.

Cas wasted no time. He scrambled across the lawn toward them and practically tackled Dean, who wrapped one arm around him and pressed his lips into the angel’s hair. Though he felt completely overwhelmed, the older Winchester kept his gun somewhat steady, pointing it at the figure on the ground.

In the next instant, however, Crowley was gone, and so was the feeling of omnipotence associated with Sam’s burst of energy. Rosa collapsed to her knees and covered her eyes with both hands as a migraine set in. The healer touched her head immediately to take some of the edge off. He wouldn’t be able to take it away completely, though, as it seemed she was experiencing the same sort of energy fatigue he regularly fought whenever he overworked himself. Healing wouldn’t take that special kind of pain away.

Dean lowered the Colt slowly and, after a few moments, tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. Cas maintained his embrace. “I am so happy to see you,” he breathed, clutching him tightly. “Dean, you have no idea!”

He held him close. “I think I might.” Dean’d only managed a full night’s sleep once in recent history thanks to sedation from Sam, and even then, he awoke earlier than his soulmate hoped. He was a complete mess with Cas gone. He hardly ate, bathed only out of absolute necessity, and showed no interest in any of the things he usually enjoyed. TV couldn’t hold his attention. Hell, neither could Sam. Not for long. With their angel in the grasp of evil over the last week or so, Dean ceased being a person. His whole existence was worry, guilt, and sadness at losing him.

Cas’s fingers drifted over Dean’s cheeks before he moved in for a firm, lethargic kiss. It was a long time before he pulled away. When he did, it was to turn and smile at Sam. He waved the younger Winchester over and waited, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

Sam helped Rosa to her feet before crossing the distance. He scooped the angel up in his arms and actually lifted him an inch or so off of the ground for a few seconds. Theirs was a much more lighthearted greeting, accompanied by a flourish of kissing and touching. He healed the scrapes and bruises the angel had endured without inquiring where he got them, preferring instead to keep the moment happy. With his hands coming to rest on Cas’s hips, Sam produced a gigantic smile.

“You look stunning.”

Blushing, Cas pressed his nose into the healer’s jawline. “You, too.”

Dean let them have a couple more minutes together before clearing his throat. “Not to cut this short, but we should probably get outta here.”

The angel nodded emphatically. “I don’t ever want to see this place again.”

Taking hold of both of his partners, Dean motioned with his chin toward Rosa. “C’mon.”

But she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What?” Sam pulled away from the two of them and stepped toward her.

Rosa just grinned, patting him on the arm. “The King of Hell is still out there. And I’m sure he’s pissed. I don’t want him coming after you and your angel again.” She glanced over at Cas as though to reassure herself that he was really reunited with them. “And I hate the bastard. Hate him. So, I’m gonna track his ass down and slice him up into little pieces.”

“How you gonna do that?”

She ran one finger along the edge of her sword’s sheath. “This, and I—I was hoping maybe you could charge me up once more? I used it all in one go before, but I think I can regulate it, you know? Make it last. Maybe even learn how to build it up myself.”

Sam thought it was a bad idea. He didn’t know what her ability even was, how she got it, or what would happen if she had more power than she could control. But at the same time, he knew that Crowley was and always would be a threat to them, so long as he was still alive. It didn’t seem like he could stay away from Cas even if he wanted to. Sam had no doubt the demon would keep trying to take the former captive, and kill him and his brother in the process.

Though he didn’t like it, he reluctantly reached for her shoulder, dipping his hand between cloth and skin to ensure the energy traveled directly into her body.

This time, Rosa stifled making any noises. But the look on her face was enough. She really, intensely enjoyed that. Perhaps more than any human connection or interaction could ever provide. Sam took his hand away quickly and stepped back toward Dean and Cas. “Well, good luck. I hope you get him.”

“Thanks,” Dean added. She deserved at least that for helping them rescue Cas. Clamping on to the other two, he spread his wings wide and took off for home.


	25. Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

The days and weeks that followed were filled mostly with intimate moments, either through hours of exercise in bed or falling asleep on the couch—and just anything that allowed the Winchesters to spend a lot of time with Cas.

His reappearance in their lives was immediately noticed by authorities. They invented a story about a van pulling up out front and just kicking Cas out, and the angel, in true form, constructed an elaborate lie on the spot about his attackers mistaking him for some rich person and trying to ransom money from the wrong people. He, of course, couldn’t make out any names and had been blindfolded the whole time, but he was very concerned that the police try and find the family in question. Though they grilled Cas for hours, the fact that a whole host of witnesses had seen him get abducted worked to their advantage.

That, and he already knew every interrogation technique on the books. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it in order to satisfy their inquiries. He probably could have convinced them that he was kidnapped by horses, and they would’ve bought it eventually.

The college reacted by affording him the rest of the semester off—and refunding that part of his tuition. They didn’t want to get sued since the kidnapping occurred on their property. This sudden time off gave them plenty of chances to get reacquainted, and generally show Cas how much they missed him.

And they did take advantage of the opportunity.

Constantly.

Sam got the angel out of his clothes every chance he got, and hardly let him put them back on for long. Though Dean’s appetite wasn’t nearly as strong—uncharacteristically so—Cas didn’t seem to notice. The added attention from the younger man was wonderful. And when he could have Dean, too, he was ecstatic. He wanted to enjoy and experience them in every way imaginable. Not only because he loved it, and them, but also to rid himself of the lingering sullied feeling that Crowley left on him.

When he did finally get Dean all to himself, however, he couldn’t help but acknowledge a very clear change in him.

The two spent more than an hour having sex, slowly and affectionately. They felt one another, ran their hands over every miniscule part. Despite taking the lead, Dean practically clung to him the whole time. It seemed, at least to Cas, that the exchange was as much about making sure they’d really gotten him back—that he was truly there—as it was about having fun. If not more so.

Cas enjoyed it, of course, and Dean certainly did, but the usual excitement wasn’t there. No action the angel performed could get him to smile for long, and when it was all over? Dean just stared up at the ceiling and rubbed absently at the side of Cas’s leg.

Dean only did that sort of thing when he felt vulnerable. Usually with Sam, but on occasion with his other partner, as well.

The angel didn’t have to retain his healing ability to know there was pain emanating from Dean. He waited as long as he could before bringing it up, but after awhile, it was so agonizing to witness, he couldn’t help it. “Talk to me,” he said quietly, rolling onto his side and resting his head on Dean’s chest. He wrapped his arm around him and listened to him breathe. “You’re not okay, are you?”

Dean swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “No.”

“How do I fix it?”

Shrugging, “Live forever?”

Cas exhaled sharply. He didn’t need this conversation to know that his mortality was the problem at hand. It was the only thing that bothered Dean this much. He’d be happy otherwise. He had everything he wanted. Except eternity with his angel. And the fact was tearing him apart. Down to the core. It was eating him alive.

“You know I can’t do that, Dean.”

His lip trembled slightly. “I know. But, dude, I just—I can’t take losing you again. I can’t.”

“I believe you.” After a long pause, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Cas didn’t know what else to say. He doubted any combination of words in any language would be enough to console him. Not without changing the inevitable.

***

He sat on their bed with the phone in both hands, staring at it. For twenty minutes, he just sat there. He could change his mind. He didn’t have to go through with it. No one even had to know. Cas and Sam—they were having a good time at the café down the street. The one they loved with all the rainbows everywhere. They could stay there all afternoon. And he could greet them when they came back. They would fall asleep tonight in his arms, none the wiser.

But the problem would still remain. It would still plague him, cutting away at his confidence and happiness and everything about his life.

He took a giant gulp of bourbon, straight from the bottle. The good stuff they saved for special occasions. If this wasn’t one of those, Dean didn’t know what was. Picking the device up, he dialed and brought it to his ear. His heart raced, and he could feel sweat drip down his spine.

The noises of people and expensive coffee being brewed met his ears first, then Sam’s voice, sweet and familiar. “Hey, Dean!” He sounded like he was in a good mood. Of course he was. He’d been inescapably elated ever since rescuing Cas.

“Hey, Sammy. Uh—” He covered the mic and cursed. “—you think you guys could-uh, could come back early?”

“Umm, sure. Is something wrong? You don’t sound very good, dude.” Sam generally couldn’t diagnose through a phone, so if Dean had taken ill or injured himself while they were gone, he wouldn’t automatically know. He thought perhaps their psychic connection might make it easier across distances, but maybe not.

Dean ran with it. “I’m just not feeling very well, I guess. Probably the flu or something. Think you could fix me up?” He hated lying to him. God, he hated it. Especially now.

“Of course. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” In the background, “Dean says he’s under the weather. Do you wanna wait here or—?”

“No, I’ll come, too.”

When Sam turned his attention back, Dean jumped in. “Is-is that Cas? Could you put him on for a sec? I gotta ask him somethin’.”

There was a pause as Sam reigned in his surprise at his soulmate’s tone. Dean almost seemed afraid of something. And Sam could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen him fearful when it wasn’t about his partners’ safety. “All right, sure.”

Moments later, “What’s up, Dean? You okay?”

“Dude, yeah, I’m fine.” He didn’t think he sounded convincing at all. “I just wanted to ask you—if you’re happy with us, with being with us. We-uh—we make you happy, right?”

He heard Cas gasp. “Dean! You know you do. What do you mean? Of course I’m happy. Sweetheart, absolutely.”

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. Then, it was settled. “Good. That’s really good to hear. I-umm—I’m in the-uh—the den, watching TV. See you soon.”

“See ya.”

Sam had a bad feeling, deep in his gut. Not once, in their entire lives, had Dean showed this much weakness, and what certainly sounded like fear, over something as simple as a cold or flu. He was tough, and he acted even tougher. So, either the sudden illness was much worse than he was letting on, or something else was wrong.

He didn’t give any of their old code words, signaling foul play or that he was being held captive, and the healer could fix pretty much any malady. But Sam still felt incredibly uneasy.

And Cas did, too. Dean unwaveringly hated pet names. But the angel’s relaxed mood and his partner’s strange distress drew it from him. And yet, Dean made no attempt to correct him or scoff at it.

The questioning was weird, too. Dean knew he was happy. Why would he ask that?

They rushed home. Sam finished his coffee on the way, and Cas lost interest and tossed it when they got inside. “Dean?” the younger Winchester called out, but there was no answer. A few more inquires yielded the same result.

On the second floor, they found the den empty and the TV off. Taped to the screen was a note, scribed in Dean’s handwriting. It was neater than anything Sam had ever seen Dean write, but it was definitely his. Attached at the base was one of the bells they once hung on the back door, before Sam made his healings by-appointment and emergencies only.

Though they didn’t understand it, the bell was so Dean could hear when Sam got to the letter.

And he did, even up one floor, when his brother pulled it off and started reading to himself.

> _“Hey Sammy,_
> 
> _Listen… okay. I know you’re gonna freak out. You can’t help it. I know. I KNOW. Just… okay. I’m gonna do something. I’m doing something, and, dude, I need you to trust me, okay? Please. You have to trust me. And you have to promise me. You have to promise me you won’t hurt yourself. Don’t. Don’t do anything to you, okay? And if you can’t help it, make Cas stop you._
> 
> _I need you to stay alive. I don’t just want you to. I mean, I definitely DON’T want you to do anything… God, please don’t hurt yourself. I’m begging you, man.”_

Sam was terrified to read any further. He looked over at Cas, who stood too far away to make out the words. He’d seen that it was meant for the healer, and he didn’t want to intrude.

> _“But yeah, I need you alive. Because I need you to heal me after what I’m gonna do.”_

Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening.

In a shaky voice, he began reading it aloud. He didn’t think he could take much more without having Cas to share the burden. Though he didn’t intend to, Sam spoke much like Dean often did. Either because of the way the letter was written or because of their bond. The angel couldn’t tell for sure. “ _I’m gonna… go have a chat with Gabriel. Way I understand it, I kind of have to ditch my body to get in the door, and then I can use the wings to go see him. Balthazar told me it’s possible._ ”

Dean’d pulled Bal aside after they’d finished explaining the plan against the demon army, and, in as vague terms as possible, asked him what it would take to speak to Gabriel. If a soul with wings could make the journey, and maybe even come back. Bal’d laughed in his face, and said he’d have to kill himself to even try. After all, what the hell did Dean think could make a soul get disconnected from its body?

But after some prying, Dean had enough information to consider it.

And then Crowley took Cas. Though it put his tentative plans on hold, the abduction also hammered home the importance of doing something— _anything_ —to save their angel. And to do it sooner rather than later.

Sam had to stop reading to make his voice work. Cas came over and touched his shoulder. Eventually, the man continued.“ _So, that’s… that’s what I’m gonna do. We gotta fix it for Cas, Sammy. I can’t deal with losing him, and I know you can’t either. And so… it’s what I have to do. I gotta do it for the three of us._ ”

Growing more frantic by the word, “ _You’re gonna try and stop me, but you’re gonna be too late. I’m upstairs. The door is locked. I hid the key and your lockpicking kit in my car under the passenger’s seat. Even if you run, you’re not gonna get here in time to stop me._ ”

He knew he should be sprinting for the Impala, but he couldn’t stop himself from reading. He was silent again, but this time, Cas read along with him.

> _“Please don’t hate me for this, Sam._
> 
> _I’m sorry. I don’t… want to leave you. Ever. And I don’t feel good at all about this. But it’s the right thing to do. It is. It might not seem like it right now, but I promise you it is._
> 
> _Okay so… when you get the door open. I’m not gonna lie to you, Sammy. It’s not gonna be pretty. I have to make sure. But I know you can fix it. You can’t… bring me back. But you can fix what I did. If I’m right, if what Balthazar says is true, then I can put myself back in._
> 
> _You have to fix it, or I can’t come back. I didn’t ask you because I knew you could never say yes. And I wouldn’t ask you to make that kind of choice.  I just couldn’t lay that on you. It’s on me. This is all on me. Everything._
> 
> _Anyway, I’m gonna come back to you. I swear. You know I would never skip town on you, right? You just have to hold on for awhile. Okay, Sammy?_ ”

“ _Please. Just hold on,_ ” Sam read that line quietly but loud enough for his companion to hear.

> “ _There’s another letter for Cas upstairs. I wanted you to read yours first. Sam, I love you._
> 
> _Dean_ ”

With fear rushing through him like a bolt of lightning, Sam sprinted haphazardly out of the room.

He was halfway down the stairs, still clutching the letter, when he heard the loud bang. It stopped him cold in his tracks, and he slipped, skidding the rest of the way to the landing on the main floor.

The realization hit him first. But just as he was bursting into tears, a very real, very painful sort of _snap_ happened deep inside him. Like a taut wire breaking under pressure and then whipping back to hit him at full force. And with it, a rush of pure agony overtook him. Pain blended perfectly with a hollow, empty ache of loss. A piece of him was gone, and he knew now what that piece was. He knew, for the first time, exactly how much of himself wasn’t himself at all. It was Dean, and Dean was gone.

Sobbing uncontrollably, he sat in a crumpled heap at the base of the stairs.

Cas wasn’t much better off. He trembled as he caught up to Sam. Tears welled in his eyes, and his mind raced. But one clear thought prevailed above the rest. If they got upstairs quickly enough, Dean’s soul might still be nearby. The presence of his wings might be enough to scare off any reapers, and even if they couldn’t, the sudden, untimely death might buy them some time.

And then maybe they could call the whole thing off, and Dean could return to his body.

“You have to get up. Come on,” he said softly, attempting to lift Sam to his feet. “We need to go upstairs. We have to go and help Dean.”

The healer glared at him with red eyes. What was the point? They weren’t going to get Dean back. Dean was dead. Gone. Missing in action. A giant chunk of Sam had been ripped away. There could be no hope. And there was no future.

He managed “The key’s in—” But he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“The car, I know. But I could, maybe I could use my power to open it. I don’t have a lot left, but we have to try. We have to hurry. I know you’re hurting, Sam, but please!” He pulled him up toward their bedroom with strength he didn’t know he had. All the while, he tried not to think, to numb himself. He knew what Dean was attempting, and why, but how could he think killing himself for just a chance was worth it? Cas didn’t want this. He didn’t want to lose Dean to this.

They hit the door with a thud. Sam backed away as Cas put both hands near the lock and closed his eyes. He hadn’t used even an ounce of his angelic energy in years. Part of him thought it was gone completely, having faded away with some of his secondary abilities. But sheer horror at the thought of losing Dean convinced him otherwise.

He _shoved_ on the lock with all of his might.

It actually hurt a little, like exercising for the first time on a once-broken leg. But to Cas’s relief, he heard the metal clicking and sliding.

And then it unlocked.

He didn’t think. He didn’t think about how the loss of a soulmate always wrought devastation on the still-living half. Or about how most of them rarely survived for long, even the ones who never learned about their bond. Sam and Dean were fully realized. Their connection was the strongest Cas had ever seen or even heard of. But a substantial part would surely have broken when Dean crossed over. A complete bond was only possible when both were on the same plane. That fracture led so many to suicide after the loss of the other. They couldn’t help themselves. And anyway, in Heaven it would be whole again.

But in the moment, Cas didn’t think about that. He had no room in his head for Sam’s heartbreak. He had only terror, and it threatened to consume him.

He threw the door open and rushed inside. Next to the bed, lying before him in a pool of blood, was what remained of Dean’s body. The back of his skull was gone. A few teeth had been knocked loose from the recoil, and the handgun Dean’d used still lay loosely in his hand. Bright red blood was everywhere. It oozed out of him at the mouth and head. And the spray had found the window curtains, a wall, and one of the nightstands. Bits of his hair, brain matter, bone—Cas couldn’t take it.

He barely made it to a trash can in their room, where he vomited until he’d exhausted the entire contents of his stomach. Even with nothing more to expel, his abdominal muscles still heaved and contracted.

With the angel thoroughly occupied, Sam slowly moved into the room. He took it all in, as Cas did, but it didn’t register. Dean was gone. That wasn’t Dean. That was a pile of flesh that once housed him. It didn’t have his smile, his life—his anything. All of it died and left Sam behind.

It was a long time before he remembered the note in his hand. And the promise it elicited. “ _You have to fix it_.” Sam didn’t see the point. Dean wasn’t coming back. How could he?

But his soulmate had asked it of him before dying.

Such a devastating wound would take a lot of his power. It might even bring his reserves dangerously low. As he bent down to begin, Sam thought that might not be such a bad thing.


	26. Only Love Can Break Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Cas rose shakily to his feet in time to see the wound close on Dean’s head. On the corner of the mattress, he spied an envelope with his name on it, and he carefully tore open the paper. Reading,

> _“Hey Cas,_
> 
> _I guess this is gonna be pretty hard on you.”_

But a sudden movement from Sam halted him. He picked up the gun and stared at it intently.

“Sam,” he tried unsuccessfully to sound commanding. “Dean’s coming back.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re wrong. He’s gone. I can feel it.” Every part of his body and psyche hurt. Could this have been how Dean felt when the angels killed him all those years ago? Oh God, how did he survive it? All Sam wanted to do was die. Sooner, rather than later.

“Sam, put the gun down.”

“No.”

“Sam,” he approached slowly, dropping the letter back onto their bed. “Give the gun to me, okay?”

“You don’t have to fucking watch. Just leave.” By the look on his face, Sam wouldn’t have any trouble going through with it.

This was Cas’s nightmare.

One Winchester dead, and one about to be. He had to stop him. “When Dean comes back, and he finds you dead, what the hell do I tell him? Huh? That I couldn’t stop you? That you, of all people, had no faith? No hope of any kind? No, I won’t do that.”

He didn’t even want to admit it to himself. Sam was always the optimistic one. He was their light. But Cas couldn’t find any trace of that in him now. It was reasonable, given the bond and the situation, but no less shocking and disheartening.

With so much at stake, Cas couldn’t afford to rely on persuasion alone. He reached down quickly and snatched the gun from Sam’s hands. He would lock it away, and every other weapon in the house, if he had to. But Sam had no intention of letting go that easily. He shot up from his seat on the floor and slugged Cas right in the jaw, knocking him off of his feet and sending the gun skidding somewhere under the bed.

Cas recovered fast, scrambling to get the weapon before the distraught man could. But Sam grabbed his leg to try and pull him away. In return, the angel kicked out and connected with Sam’s chest. There was a loud crack as he hit one of their dressers.

Even as his fingertips grazed the butt of the gun, Cas held no illusions about his chances of success. He never imagined he’d end up in a physical fight with the younger Winchester—or the man’s brother for that matter—but now that he was in the midst of one? Cas knew he couldn’t stack up. Sam was five inches taller than him, more physically fit, and overall much stronger. And if Cas could somehow bring himself to injure him in self-defense—an inconceivable notion—he’d just heal himself.

He hooked his hand around the weapon, retrieved it, and shoved it into the back of his waistband. Sam descended on him immediately, but he rolled over just in time. If Sam wanted the gun, he’d have to go through Cas to get it.

And he just might. Enraged, the healer hit him in the face again before lifting the angel’s torso off the floor by his shirt. Cas weakly blocked a third blow. His jaw, which throbbed in pain from the first strike, was beginning to swell. He could taste blood. But he wouldn’t fight back. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Sure, he pushed Sam’s arm away when he tried to reach for the pistol, but he didn’t dare hit him. The only still-breathing love of his life. He didn’t care what Sam, utterly distraught and crazed from the loss of his soulmate, did to him. Cas could never hurt this man, under any circumstances.

He wasn’t about to have his face bashed in, though, if he could help it. And if he couldn’t stop Sam with force, maybe, just maybe, he’d still listen to reason. “You can hit me all you want,” his voice wavered as he tried and failed to accept that Sam would actually knowingly cause him harm, “if it’ll keep you from hurting yourself. Be my guest. But if you want this gun, to take away the only person on this planet I have left, then you’ll have to kill me first. ‘Cause I won’t watch you die, Sam. I won’t. And I’m not leaving you here to do it, either.”

Sam halted his attack. His eyes, red from crying that persisted even now, moved wildly across the figure beneath him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t process the situation. He just wanted to die. Anyone who stood in his way was his enemy. No one who cared about him would want him to bear this much pain. No one who loved him would try and force him to withstand it.

Which meant—Cas didn’t love him? Even in his agony, the thought didn’t hold up to scrutiny. Cas was here, trying to protect him. Trying to help him, even as he returned the favor by injuring him. Oh God, by hitting him? Sam’s mouth dropped open as he began to understand the full consequences of his actions. The adoring partner, who practically worshiped Sam’s compassion toward others, and who an hour earlier had been laughing with him over coffee, was now at his mercy. In a sickening side effect to his soulmate’s death, Sam had turned into a monster, and without pausing to think it through, he’d actually laid a hand on him. He’d hurt him.

If he hadn’t wanted to kill himself already, his guilt about this fact would have brought him there anyway. 

Careful not to damage him further, Sam meekly lowered Cas back down and let go of his shirt. He slowly brought his hand up to Cas’s face. The angel didn’t flinch—but Sam thought he had every right to. What he did…

With exhaustion and regret quickly taking hold in place of anger, he sent a burst of healing energy into the angel to mend the physical wounds he’d personally inflicted.

“Cas, I’m—” He didn’t know whether he should just apologize or invite retaliation to make it equal. Sam wasn’t some abuser who went around hurting the people he claimed to love. Not once in his life had he even considered striking anyone he was in a romantic relationship with. Not Dean since they got together, not Jess, and certainly not Cas.

But it’d happened all the same.

And Dean was dead. Fuck, what would he think if he’d seen this? It would destroy him. Dean was dead, and the first thing Sam did about it was to beat up the person they both swore they loved as much as each other.

He climbed off of Cas to give him some room as what little grasp on composure he had shattered into a million pieces. Doubling over, he wept forcefully. “Cas, I’m so sorry,” he eventually managed to get out. “I didn’t mean to. I swear.”

The angel stumbled to his feet and moved away, choosing a seat on the bed. He took a long look at Dean’s lifeless body, in perfect condition but nonetheless surrounded by blood. With a solemn expression, he pulled out the gun, held it up so Sam could see it, and decisively set it on the nightstand. “That doesn’t matter,” he said without looking at the healer.

He picked up Dean’s letter and began reading it to himself again, content, at least for the moment, that Sam was too immobilized by despair and guilt to try another suicide attempt.  

> “ _Hey Cas,_
> 
> _I guess this is gonna be pretty hard on you._
> 
> _Man, I’m sorry. I really am. I know you wouldn’t let me do this if I’d given you a choice, and I know you hate not having a say, but I have to do this. I have to._ ”

As he read, Cas tried to imagine Dean speaking the words, and it came as a small comfort. Sam wasn’t the only one devastated. He didn’t know how he was supposed to deal with Sam losing his mind _and_ the possibility that Dean might not be able to return. In fact, he was pretty sure he couldn’t.

> “ _I’m doing it for you. And for us. But please don’t blame yourself. You’re probably going to, anyway, but I’m asking you to just… try not to. I need to fix this. What we have, it’s… I never really thought it would be possible to feel the way I do when you’re around. Like I’m a part of something with purpose, you know? I don’t want to spend eternity without you. I can’t do it. I’ll convince Gabriel to let you into Heaven. And then I’ll come back._
> 
> _Please take care of Sam for me. He’s… he won’t THINK… and I’m afraid he’s gonna hurt himself. STOP HIM. You have to stop him. As a favor to me, please, Cas. Do whatever you have to. But he has to heal me for this to work. And there’s no one to bring him back if he dies._ ”

Cas glanced over at the younger Winchester, who wiped at his red eyes in an attempt to return the gaze. “What’s it say?” he asked like a child might. But Cas turned back to the letter without answering.

> “ _There’s a chance… there’s a chance this won’t work. If I can’t convince him, we’ll just, go back and try something else._
> 
> _But if I can’t come back, I just want you to know… and don’t tell Sammy about this part, okay? I don’t think he can take it. If I can’t get back into my body, for whatever reason, I’m so sorry that I cut things with us short. It’ll screw up everything for you, with us, and you don’t deserve that. I don’t know how I could… make it without you with me. You’re like half of everything that matters to me._
> 
> _But maybe just you and Sam could spend some time for awhile, if you can manage it. I can wait. Tell him that I said I can wait._ ”

He laughed. The kind of disheartened, sarcastic laugh one gave when greeted with an impossible task. Here Dean was, about to blow his brains out, pouring himself onto the page and begging Cas to make things okay—but the angel knew he couldn’t. Sam had one foot in the grave already, and moments ago, he was willing to do anything to throw himself in. He was willing to fight his way past Cas to do it.

The idea that the two of them could be together without Dean acting as glue was absurd. No way. They had fun, and they loved each other, but they needed the commonality that Dean provided. And Sam’s violent outburst only proved it wouldn’t work. If there was a chance for them, he would have leaned on Cas, wouldn’t he? He would have trusted his judgment, cried in his arms—anything but throwing punches.

And Sam didn’t even want to be here with him.

All he wanted was to follow Dean to the Kingdom. He wanted to die and leave Cas alone. That, a thousand times more than the temporary physical damage inflicted, was a bigger betrayal. At least with Dean leaving, it was because of a chance at eternity with Cas. “ _I’m doing it for you._ ” If Sam killed himself, it would only be for _him_.

What’s more,

> “ _I’m being a selfish ass. I hope you don’t hate me if this doesn’t work out, but I get it if you do. It’s just that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t try everything._
> 
> _I love you. I don’t say it enough, and this might be the last time I get to tell you, but it’s true, Cas. Whatever happens, I swear, I’ll find a way to see you again._
> 
> _Dean_
> 
> _P.S.: Sorry about the floor, wall, etc. When I make it back, I’ll clean it myself. Promise._ ”

Cas pressed the letter to his chest. As tears returned, he made no attempt to combat them. “You idiot,” he spoke softly enough for Sam to know he wasn’t addressing him.

“I know you don’t—you don’t owe me anything right now, but,” Sam gulped, “did he say anything more?” Like an explanation as to why he was being _this_ reckless. The healer had seen in him a deep depression that Dean refused to let him treat, but he never thought his brother would go this far.

The angel laughed again. With spite lacing every word, “If it doesn’t work, he thinks we should continue on without him. Just you and me.”

Sam’s eyes grew big. His mouth moved for awhile before any sound came out. “Y-you don’t think w-we could.” Not a big surprise, considering that he’d just attacked him, but his tone caught Sam off guard. They were in love, weren’t they? Living without Dean felt impossible. But the two of them were happy when it was just them. They went everywhere together, and they truly adored being around each other. That had to count for something.

“Do _you_? You don’t even think I’m worth staying alive for!” Cas couldn’t have held back if he wanted to.

He licked dry lips, but it made no difference. “That’s not true! It just—it just hurts more than, more than you could imagine.”

“You don’t think I want him back, too?”

“No, I mean—fuck—it’s just, there’s a giant piece of me that’s just gone.”

Cas glared at him. “Yeah, I don’t know what that’s like.”

It took awhile for Sam to understand, but when he did, he started sobbing once more. He hadn’t even considered that. The whole reason Dean thought he’d be able to track down Gabriel was because of the sizable piece of Cas attached to his soul. Angel wings. Though Cas could stand to be away from Dean for longer than Sam could, he was undeniably connected to the older Winchester. It literally was a substantial part of him that Dean carried, more than the healing power Sam possessed. His soulmate often remarked that it _felt_ like Cas.

And it was gone, along with the man they both loved.

Sam didn’t think his legs could hold him up, but he tried anyway. He ended up staggering over to the bed. But he hesitated. Cas was hurting not just from the loss but from Sam’s stupidity and aggression. He had no right to touch him—ever again. Let alone mere minutes after hitting him.

He perched on the corner of the mattress, a few feet away. With an arm that shook wildly, he reached for him, but paused before making contact. Sam wanted desperately to try and comfort him. But by all rights, if Cas got up and left the room, he couldn’t blame him.

The angel’s eyes studied him for a long time. The gun was close enough for Sam to grab if he wanted, but the healer just kept his attention on Cas.

Who felt terribly, painfully alone.

He gave in. Gripping Sam by the wrist, he pulled his arm the rest of the way to his cheek.

But that wasn’t its intended destination. Sam moved it down to Cas’s far shoulder, where he grasped him firmly—and pulled him close. What he should’ve done to begin with. What he would’ve killed to go back and do instead. “Losing you would destroy me,” Sam cried into his ear. And though he wasn’t at all sure he could follow through, “Cas, you’re more than worth staying alive for.”

He didn’t buy it. Sam would try to end his life again. Cas was sure of it. He couldn’t trust him not to. Hell, he didn’t even want to get his hopes up for anything else. “I don’t believe you,” he said simply.

Sam held him tighter. “Then, I—I’ll prove it to you. Every day, if I—if I have to.”

Unlikely. Cas closed his eyes and tried to extinguish his doubts, or at least bury them. On some level, maybe he believed that Sam meant what he said; he just didn’t think the healer could do it. Soulmates didn’t know how to live without each other. And even in their unique situation, he had no reason to think the extra love Sam felt for him would be enough.

If left alone, Cas’s own prospects were just as grim. His whole life was because of the Winchesters. He’d devoted himself to them in ways that weren’t even possible for humans, and he’d done it gladly. Without them? He didn’t see much point to going on. In fact, he was certain he didn’t want to.

For their sake, Dean had better come back, he thought as a feeling of dread crept through his whole body. Because there was no hope without him.


	27. Shoot to Thrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

The first ring should have been his cue. He’d promised himself he would do it on the first ring. That’s what the bell was for. But he wussed out. He didn’t hear Sam’s footsteps pounding down the stairs yet, so he still had time, but it was running out quickly.

He brought the gun up to his lips but let it fall again. His heart raced. His hand trembled, and he started to sweat. “C’mon,” he spoke aloud to himself. “Just do it already.”

The barrel returned to his mouth, and this time, Dean pushed it about halfway in. He let the metal rest on his tongue. Stalling, he adjusted his grip on the weapon, and then the angle, trying to optimize for a quick and certain death. That’s why he went with a gun, after all. He could’ve drowned in their bathtub or taken a bunch of pills, but he had to make sure he died before Sam got there. He had to be certain he couldn’t be revived. Or else, he’d lose his chance at talking to Gabriel.

Another ring. Creaking of the floor boards as Sam took off for his Chevy. In a minute, his athletic counterpart would prove him a liar. Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to do it if he had to actually look at Sam or Cas. And he sincerely doubted he could go through with it even just with them pounding on the other side of the door.

He was out of time. Looking up at the ceiling, Dean let out a breath, straightened his back, and pulled the trigger.

There was no sound. “Fuck,” he muttered. Of all the times for his gun to jam.

But when he moved to try and fix it, he found the weapon missing from his hand. In fact, it was gone completely. How was that possible? How could it—?

The room lit up in bright light. Welcoming, and yet cold. Kinda like healing energy, but different. He felt it, and yet he couldn’t _really_ feel it. He couldn’t feel anything. And he couldn’t do much in terms of thinking, either. He knew what this was, didn’t he? What it had to be? But at the same time, he couldn’t work out the term or wrap his mind around the concept. The energy, it urged him to just forget about it. He’d wanted something very profound. Forget that, too, it insisted. It didn’t matter now. You’re happy. You’re safe. Everything will be fine. Everyone’s fine.

No, it wasn’t.

The gun. He’d had a gun. Because he wanted to shoot himself. He was planning to eat a bullet, until this happened.

Why would he want to do that? Wasn’t life good? Wasn’t he happy with Sam and Cas and their house?

And then the gun disappeared.

No. Think, he told himself. Guns don’t disappear. And rooms didn’t just turn into giant light bulbs. He had a gun. He’d wanted to shoot himself.

And he did.

This was death, he thought finally. Dean was an excellent shot. He could practically hit anything. Of course he could hit himself at close range.

But why? He couldn’t remember. Why would he want to die? He loved his life, didn’t he? The little moments with Sam in the morning. The nights together. Washing and detailing his car. Building things for the house. Long conversations. Food. Sleep. Sex. Happiness.

Cas.

His angel.

Cas, who looked at him with such adoration that Dean could hardly believe it. Cas, who seamlessly folded himself into the lives of two soulmates and who loved them both equally. Cas, who was banned from Heaven.

He smelled salt water. The light cleared around him, and he was somewhere else. Not their home in Philly or any place he immediately recognized. Warm. A breeze grazed his cheek, and he felt sand in it. The beach? He looked to his right and saw ocean in the distance. At once, he heard it, too. The waves washing ashore. He moved. His feet made a hollow noise on a wooden deck.

“Best idea ever, right?” said a voice a few steps away.

Turning his head, he located a familiar figure, lounging in a plastic chair near the corner of the structure. Cas. His angel. Smiling brilliantly, he looked up at Dean with those blue eyes. In his hands, he cradled a brightly colored drink complete with a paper umbrella. The condensation dripped from between his fingers.

At once, Dean knew what this was. Or rather, where and when. Stone Harbor. The beach house they rented a couple years ago. A two-week hiatus from work. Cas’s idea. Everything Dean remembered about that vacation was wonderful. If Heaven really was a place where life’s good memories were repeated for souls to enjoy, then this was a good one to start with.

“Yeah,” he replied simply.

Cas beckoned him closer with one finger in the air. “Don’t you think you should be thanking me, Dean? It’s only fair. C’mere.”

The vacation _had_ been Cas’s idea.

He couldn’t help himself. All he wanted was to relive this moment, these perfect days in the sun with his partners. Drinking and swimming. Sleeping in. Generally enjoying each other. He had something very important to do, but it could wait just a little while, couldn’t it?

Sauntering over, Dean took everything in. Cas looked astounding. He always did, no matter how disheveled or stressed out from his classes. But today, the first full day of their vacation? God. He’d only barely ran a comb through his hair, but it looked good messy. He wore one of Sam’s oversized shirts with a pair of worn cotton shorts that could scarcely be seen underneath. More than well-aware that his attire would drive both Winchesters crazy, Cas spent much of the holiday dressed like that.

When he wasn’t wearing even less.

And now, he sat suggestively, leaning back, biting into his lip, and eyeing the man up. It took some convincing, but he’d managed to persuade Dean into a pair of cargo shorts and some sandals that day, and it was exactly what he wore now.

“Dude, you’re drunk,” he pointed out. Dean had no problem remembering exactly what he’d said that day, and no difficulty repeating it, as though he were reading a script. “Isn’t it like eleven?”

“Eleven thirty! And only a little. So glad we got the full bar. There’s like eight kinds of juice, too.”

Dean grinned, bending down to kiss him. “Lightweight.” Another kiss. “And you didn’t think we should spend the money on it!”

Cas shrugged. He reached up and smoothed down a stray lock of Dean’s hair. His fingers came to rest over the man’s ear. Dean knew it wasn’t real, but it felt so much like it. His touch had the perfect combination of softness and pressure. And everything else was right, down to how he smelled and tasted. Sweet and clean, mixed with the cranberry rum concoction he’d created minutes earlier.

“Well, I didn’t want Sam to get left out, you know?” The healer’s special skill set essentially prevented him from getting drunk. He could chug hard liquor with little more than a slight buzz to show for it. “But I think he likes seeing me intoxicated,” he snickered.

Dean nodded. Beaming, “You get— _animated_.”

“And easy!” Setting his drink on a small wicker table, he wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and shoulders. He could feel the angel’s warmth. Barely able to contain his excitement, Dean brought his lips to Cas’s neck.

They were well into a seaside make-out session when Sam opened the sliding glass door and leaned on the frame. Normally an early riser, his soulmate had slept in that day; then he took his time getting a shower and some breakfast. He needed the rest—one of the main reasons for a vacation in the first place—and he looked much happier now.

At that point, Dean and Cas had only just begun to feel fully comfortable when Sam walked in on them. What years later would seem commonplace was still new and a little strange. This moment marked the first where they did not pause or offer any sort of acknowledgement. Not because they didn’t love him or even didn’t want him to join in, but because they were so comfortable with having Sam around, and considered him such an essential part of their relationship, that his presence simply didn’t interrupt anything. It wasn’t a given, but it was routine.

As mundane as the kissing might have seemed to outsiders, it was truly remarkable for this reason.

The vacation offered many chances for the issue to repeat itself in various combinations. Cas, for instance, finding Dean and Sam cozying up in a hammock on the second floor balcony. Dean waking up alone, only to discover to his amusement that Sam and Cas were taking an early dip in the ocean. Each time, the engaged pair seamlessly absorbed the third party into their interaction—though the hammock humorously did not accommodate the weight of three people.

“I take back everything bad I ever said about New Jersey,” Sam laughed, staring out at the water. He stretched, and his shirt rode up on him a little.

The healer would talk about this vacation for months afterward. And whenever someone remarked about the state smelling bad or some of the types of people who frequented the shore towns, he would use these days as an example of it not being so bad. The trip, in his mind, would redeem the entire state and shield it from criticism. That’s how good it was. For all of them.

It was a slice of Heaven on Earth. Dean had no doubt why it was in the lineup for his afterlife memory marathon.

But something was wrong.

As elated and relaxed as this place made him feel, Dean knew the Sam who sat down across from them and put his feet up on the railing wasn’t _his_. There was an empty place in his heart. The familiar tug in the general direction of his soulmate was gone, or it was spread so thin because of the distance that he could hardly feel it any longer. More importantly, he couldn’t feel it at all with the hologram. The memory version of Sam was just that: a memory. He may as well have been a figure on TV. An apparition.

Aesthetically, it was him, down to every detail. The way his hair blew back, the way he hesitated out of habit when he smiled. If Dean wasn’t careful, he could almost pretend it actually _was_ him.

But it wasn’t. He’d left Sam, alive and unquestionably devastated, back on planet Earth. And the Cas he was kissing? Not real either. The _real_ angel—his—was the whole reason he offed himself. So he could come here, not to re-enjoy an old vacation, but to talk to Gabriel, the feathered bastard who would keep Cas out of Heaven entirely because of spite.

He would never truly enjoy himself in a place like this. Not without Sam _and_ Cas. They were bottled up happiness for Dean. It all came down to them. And it was little wonder that the first presentation Heaven offered him was a time when he got to be with them for days and days with no interruptions. That was his paradise.

If he ever hoped to share this place with both of his companions, he would have to leave it and find the archangel.

“Sorry guys,” he broke from the playbook, “but I gotta get goin’.”

Cas shook his head, keeping a loose hold on him. “Where are you gonna go? Stay here. I wanna have some fun!”

Well, that was creepy. Cas hadn’t said that. Apparently, if Dean made up his own lines, the heavenly stand-ins would compensate. It sent a shiver through him. “Uh,” he slipped out of his grasp and moved away, “I gotta run an errand. Don’t worry, I’ll be back—eventually.”

He walked past Sam, but stopped. With the back of his hand, he caressed his cheek. He didn’t care in that instant that it wasn’t really him. It felt perfectly like him on the outside. And though something about this place was dulling it, Dean already felt an ache at the spot where the two of them were supposed to be connected.

Inside the beach house, he took only a few seconds to think about the next step. The way Cas’d described it, the angelic part of Heaven was stacked in layers like a pyramid with a flat top. The base, which was the largest part and which powered the whole thing, was where human souls ended up. Next in line were the foot soldiers, then their bosses, and so on until the peak, where each of the four archangels were supposed to live.

Except that there weren’t four now. Lucifer was locked in Hell, Cas said, and during their own angel’s little temper tantrum, he’d killed Raphael. Michael, who was predestined to rule over everything, was probably still very injured, and might be for all eternity, thanks to Cas.

And then there was Gabriel.

The one archangel who didn’t want to be in Heaven at all. He preferred Earth. But Cas’s intervention had forced his return, and he hated him for it. Even though it now meant the youngest archangel wielded more power than he could ever dream of—none of that mattered. He far preferred tricks and sugar and all the other things the human world provided.

Dean had two problems. The obvious one was convincing Gabriel that not only had Cas changed, but that an afterlife here would be Hell for the Winchesters if the ban was kept in place. Since ending up here was inevitable due to their God-endorsed bond, the torment was all but certain.

Granted, Gabriel _was_ the Trickster, so maybe he wouldn’t care if two souls in his charge were miserable for all eternity. But Dean still had to try.

The second issue was far less straightforward. Not once had Dean ever flown anywhere he’d never seen before. Even for Cas’s rescue, Rosa showed him a clear picture of the landing place, and he knew generally where it was. And he had a feeling that the triangular structure was more of a metaphor than a real shape of the place. So, how the hell was he going to get from the holodeck to archangel HQ?

He had just the hint of an idea.

Sam healed people without actually looking at the problem. While Cas, when he’d had the power, would actually be able to see a broken bone mend or cancer dissolve, Sam worked blind. He sent the energy into a person with _intent_ , and he could feel what the problem was. But not once had he seen his own work in action unless it was an open gash or something external.

Maybe Dean could do the same thing. Tell his wings where he wanted to go, as an idea rather than picturing the place, and then flap them and hope for the best. He was too afraid to try it on Earth, as he could easily end up halfway inside a wall or something. Despite recently playing target practice with his own head, he actually valued his life, and he hoped to return to it shortly.

But dying wasn’t really a big concern in his current state.

It was worth a shot.

He tried to imagine what he remembered of Cas’s description. A year ago, Dean’d finally come to terms with the angel’s brief betrayal enough to ask him for details about his raid on Heaven. It was mostly just curiosity that drove the conversation. He wanted to know everything about Cas, and he could listen to him talk for hours.

Cas had little to say about the actual location, and Dean remembered that describing it at all made the angel uncomfortable. Refusing to look at him, he’d fidgeted in his seat as he spoke. “It’s kinda like a hall made out of light,” he’d explained, “with spaces for each archangel. Michael’s is a fortress made of walls of energy. The others were dark. Uh, they get dark when the dweller isn’t there.”

“Like when they’re dead?”

“Or missing, like Gabriel.”

But he would be there now, wouldn’t he? As far as Dean could tell, running Heaven was a full-time job.

Cas went on to explain that once one entered that level, the archangel bedrooms were ordered inversely by their age. Michael was last and Gabriel first.

Along with a rough idea of the place, Dean pictured the human vessel that Gabriel had been inhabiting on the occasions they’d seen him. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, the archangel would look like in his natural habitat, but he didn’t think it could hurt. He glanced around one last time to take in the beach house, let out a sigh, and took off.


	28. Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

He landed, but couldn’t see anything at all. It was just brightness. So much that it threatened to blind him if he opened his eyes for more than half a second. Even with them closed, the light shone through and seared into him. He covered his face with both arms, but it didn’t seem to help, either.

And it was freezing cold.

His senses were weird—likely a result of no longer having an actual body—but he felt the kind of stinging cold that happened right before frostbite. It numbed and pained him at the same time. If he wasn’t already dead, he thought for sure it would kill him.

“It still could.” The voice sounded like it was all around Dean. And it felt like the loudest thing he’d ever heard. “Do you think the human soul is indestructible? This space isn’t meant for you, Dean Winchester. The only reason you got here in the first place is because of that stolen jetpack you strapped on.”

He collapsed to his knees. Most of the assessment was valid, as far as he could tell. He felt like his skin was freezing off, like his eyes would burn out of his skull. But one part of the speech stuck out against the rest.

“It’s not stolen,” he protested with a groan. “It’s a—”

There was a loud crack. All at once, the cold dialed back to something more reasonable, and the light dimmed. He lay in a ball on the floor for a few more moments before slowly rising again and prying his eyes open. Standing before him was Gabriel as he knew him: the strange, sort of scrawny Trickster. There was a hint of something else behind him. Not the wings themselves but maybe a shadow of them.

He made himself stand as straight as possible. “You’re wrong. It was a gift. I didn’t steal anything.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Save it. What do you want? I assume this wasn’t a real suicide because it’s you. And I don’t think you found your way up here by accident. So, what is it, or do you want me to guess?”

He had no shortage of words. But they all tried to come out at once. It took Dean a little while to compose a coherent thought. This would be the most important thing he ever said. It meant the difference between eternal happiness with his family and infinite torment. Any misstep could ruin it. He had to be careful and respectful and so incredibly persuasive. And honest. He had a sneaking suspicion that his thoughts were an open book here. How else would Gabriel know he thought he might die a second time?

He planned to be truthful, anyway. Nothing he could fabricate would be better than the real things he felt. Sincere to the core, he shook his head. No, he wouldn’t like Gabriel to guess. “I don’t want to live forever here if it means Cas can’t be with me.”

When the archangel shot him a look of disinterest, Dean kept at it. “Listen, I know he screwed things up for you and hurt Michael, but he’s not like that now. Not even close. The guy’s no threat to anybody. And he’s got more love and caring in him than you’d think possible. Gives my brother a run for his money. We’ve built a life together, the three of us. And I gotta tell ya, it’s awesome. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Just the idea of eternity here without him kills me. Literally. I put a gun in my mouth, okay, so I could come here and ask you. Ask you to please reconsider. Please. So, when the time comes, whenever that is, Cas can join me and Sam.”

“This is torture for your soulmate, I hope you know. This little stunt.”

Dean fought back a pang of sadness from deep inside him. “I know. Believe me, I know. But if I didn’t do everything I could, I’d be betraying him, too.”

“What’s in it for me? Why would I let that ungrateful little toddler back in my house after what he did?”

“I’ve got nothing to offer you,” he confessed. “Compared to any of us, you’re a god. I don’t think I have anything you’d want, but if I do, just name your price. I’ll start a cult in your name if I have to. But this is—this is supposed to be Heaven, right? And I’m looking at endless suffering for me and my brother, and I can’t do it. I can’t take that.”

Gabriel seemed to contemplate the issue for a minute. Then, “The wings.”

A stabbing pain coursed through his chest. The feeling and the connection to Cas that the wings provided were priceless to him. They were a part of him now. More importantly, “I won’t be able to go back if you take them,” Dean couldn’t stop himself from getting upset. “I told them I’d come back.”

“You lied. You had absolutely no reason to think you could do that.”

“I know.” He let his head hang in an attempt to hide how devastated he was. “But I promised them. If there’s no other way, then they’re—they’re yours. I meant what I said. I’d do whatever it takes.” He didn’t want to lose them, but he would do anything if it meant a secured future with Cas.

Gabriel approached with a stern expression, eyeing the space behind him. With a shudder, Dean prepared himself for what he could only assume based on past experience would be excruciating pain.

But the archangel withdrew abruptly. His expression changed to a grin, and he laughed. “Damn, I really had you goin’!”

“What?” The sound barely made it past his lips.

“Man, I’m not gonna take your security blanket. I’m not that much of a dick. What the heck would I do with an extra pair of wings, anyhow? I’ve already got too many as it is.” He chuckled. “And I guess your house pet can come chill up here when he finally gets put down. But only because you asked nicely, and nobody’s ever done this before.”

Dean didn’t react at first. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. In awe and shaken by the conversation, he just stood there trying to understand it. Eventually, the human smiled, but he covered his mouth self-consciously. “Uh, thank you. This—”

“—means everything to you, I know. That’s all your head’s been saying since you landed. It’s the most repetitive, boring shit I’ve ever heard. But, hey, I’m feeling generous, so you have that going for you. Now get lost before I change my mind.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Spreading his wings, he began visualizing the house in Center City, his shared bedroom, and the body he’d left behind. He had no idea how far away the distance was, or even if he could make it, but now that Cas’s afterlife was certain, he wanted nothing more than to return to his companions and his life. He didn’t care how quiet and boring it was. He just wanted to go home.

But Gabriel lifted his hand and tilted his head to one side. “Hold up a sec.” There was a pause as he seemed to be listening to something.  Then, “There _is_ something you can do for me.”

Dean sniffed. “What is it?”

“You know the witch, Rosa?”

“Yeah?”

“If you see her again, look out for her.”

Dean squinted at him. “Why?”

“Do you really need a reason?”

Shaking his head, the ex-hunter shifted his weight. If Gabriel asked him to protect a kangaroo in Australia, he would buy the plane ticket the moment he got back. His fear of flying wouldn’t even make him hesitate. “No, but why do you care about a witch? I’m just-uh, just curious.” They knew so little about her.

Gabriel laughed. “I may or may not have accidentally used my powers of creation on her mother.”

The older Winchester’s jaw dropped open. “Holy shit.”

As crazy as the revelation was, it made perfect sense. That strange ability Rosa wielded? Cas had it, too. It was one of the few angelic tricks his partner still had up his sleeve. And her power responded dramatically to healing energy—which came from an angel. Rosa was also, in terms of personality, quite similar to Gabriel as far as Dean could tell. And she wanted, more than anything, to have the powers Dean and Sam possessed—which all came standard in angels, but obviously didn’t get passed along to her.

Now that he thought about it, it seemed incredibly unlikely that she could be anything else. “Dude.”

Gabriel raised both eyebrows. “What can I say? That woman was a fox!”

“But how come nobody’s noticed? Cas can see angels fine. Demons, other creatures, too—hell, she and Balthazar got up close and personal. I think he woulda noticed if she was sporting angel parts.”

He laughed again. “That magi dipshit! He’s lucky you stopped him. Because I would have, and things might’ve gotten a bit awkward. And then you’d have a crater for a parking lot.”

Gabriel paced back and forth as though they were actually standing in a room. “Anyway, it’s all about security. Can’t have my kid walking around with a target on her back, now can I? But—” He shrugged. “—she’s older now. May as well have full access to the abilities she ended up with, which can’t happen with the veil on. So, I’m gonna take it off. Gradually. But since I can’t watch her every second, and that girl gets into trouble like it’s her job, I need another pair of eyes.”

Dean was too overjoyed at winning Cas’s salvation to argue further. He chuckled at how ridiculous the conversation had become. “Man, you got it. I’ll watch out for her.”

“Damn right you will.”

With nothing more to say, he gave Gabriel a nod of appreciation, flapped his wings, and left.

It took longer than usual. And he didn’t end up in the room like he thought. Dean’d figured he’d show up near the bed, then have to jam himself back in somehow. But his aim was actually better.

He inhaled loudly—a giant, heavy breath. A real one. Not the going-through-the-motions sort of breathing he’d done in Heaven. He was really breathing with his own body.

Not everything reacted correctly at first, and Dean panicked. What if he’d gotten it wrong somehow? He struggled, his arms shooting out from his sides and moving across the floor wildly. He couldn’t see, couldn’t make heads or tails of where he was. His neck and back hurt. Every muscle was stiff. “Sammy?” he tried to say, but his mouth and throat were too dry. How long had he been out? Had Sam healed him all the way? Could he have come this far only to die again?

Slowly, an explanation for one of his ailments broke through his alarm. It should’ve been obvious—so much so that he silently laughed at himself. The lights were off. He couldn’t see because the room was dark. His eyes gradually adjusted enough for him to recognize basic objects in the room. The nearest lamp was definitely out of reach, but that would be his first destination—just as soon as he could get his legs to work.

And that didn’t take very long, either. There wasn’t anything wrong with them, as far as he could tell. Everything was just a little lethargic. One at a time, he stretched each joint, from his feet to his back, and from his hands to his shoulders. With a groan he rolled onto his side and crawled over to the nightstand.

When the light flicked on, he took a moment to survey the scene. Dried blood surrounded the area where he’d awoken. It was caked into the back of his shirt, too. He found more stuck to the side of his face, and there was an overpowering metallic taste in his mouth. It was unsettling to say the least, and incredibly surreal.

Guilt.

His partners had to see this—and a whole lot more. Just a little blood was bothering him. What could they have gone through? And more importantly, were they okay? He had no way of knowing while alone in the room.

Standing shakily, he looked out the window that faced their street. It had to be late: three, maybe four in the morning. Sam and Cas were probably asleep. Not in the bedroom, though. The sheets hadn’t been touched. How long had he been out? At least the whole day and part of the night. Could it be longer? It felt like maybe two hours tops had elapsed, but it was early in the day when he’d checked out.

He felt awful. Hungry and nauseated at the same time. Thirsty. Dizzy. Stiff and sore and disoriented. There was a sharp, bullet-path-shaped pain in his head. Though everything seemed to be intact, nothing felt particularly great. As it turned out, his body didn’t seem to _like_ dying.

Go figure.

On top of everything, he felt disgusting. Dirty. Before trying to find his partners, he figured it might be best to get most of the blood off and make sure he was in some semblance of working order. Showing up looking and acting like a zombie might not go over so well.

The thought brought him to a standstill. Oh God, what if his body wasn’t really alive?

What if it was still dead, and he was just moving it around?  He couldn’t go to them like that! He could be decomposing. His belly could be filled with maggots. Any number of things could be terribly, horribly wrong.

He stripped off his bloodied shirt as fast as possible and pressed the palm of his hand against his chest. But to his relief, he felt a healthy—albeit slightly faster than normal—heart beat.

Stumbling to the bathroom, Dean twisted the lever above the faucet. He dove under it and gulped down as much cold water as he could. Afterward, he splashed his face. Getting the red off took more effort. Hot water replaced cold. Soap joined the mix, and with a washcloth, he began scrubbing. His mouth and shoulders first, then the back of his head.

Mouthwash. Deodorant. More soap and water. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. Even cleaned up, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. And he was insanely pale. He guessed that since he’d lost all that blood, and his body hadn’t been alive to replace it when he was healed, that he was operating on whatever hadn’t drained out from the gunshot wound. That would explain the weakness and disorientation. He hoped time and maybe a warm meal might fix that.

But first things first. He had to go see them. They deserved to know he was alive, and he couldn’t wait to tell them. Not only about his resurrection, but about Cas being saved.

Getting down the stairs was no easy feat. Unsteady, he gripped the railing and took it one step at a time. Best guess was the spare bedroom, but when he opened the door, the room was empty. Second best guess, then?

The den.

Sam preferred that room when he overdid it on the healing. Zoning out to the TV had been commonplace when he was sick as a kid, so it made sense that he still did it. And Dean imagined that Sam might be looking for some extra comfort right about now.

The door was open. He switched on the hallway light to see inside and found the two asleep on the couch. Sam’s head lay on Cas’s chest, and the angel had his arms around him. Dean reached inside carefully and turned on a floor lamp at the lowest setting. The action roused Cas, who looked around in a daze before fixing his stare on Dean. He blinked in disbelief, eyes wide. His mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

Eventually, he gave up speaking on the subject entirely, and instead began shaking the healer. “Sam,” he whispered. “Hey, wake up.”

Sam drowsily lifted his head to look at Cas. He reached up and touched the angel’s ear. “You okay?” He seemed concerned. Dean could see now that they’d both been crying.

He knocked on the doorframe.

The noise made Sam jump. He whipped his neck around to investigate, and his jaw dropped open. “Dean?!” his voice seemed extra loud in the quiet room. Even at that distance, Dean saw him shaking.

He gave a single, deliberate nod. “Hey, Sammy.”


	29. Heaven and Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Sam sat up quickly, but he couldn’t get himself composed enough to stand and hurry over to his soulmate. Dean was happy to do the work for him. He owed them both that much. And he couldn’t contain his own excitement, either. Even in the drugged-out stupor of Heaven, he’d felt the hollow pain of their absence deep inside. He hated that feeling, and he never wanted to repeat it.

When Dean reached the edge of the couch, he dropped to his knees. One arm went over Sam’s shoulders and the other under Cas’s neck. All smiles, Cas pulled him down for a passionate kiss and held him there for awhile, ensuring Dean was really alive again.

Sam’s reaction was equal parts relief and distress. Trembling and starting to cry, he looked like he might break apart. Dean tore himself away from the angel so he could try and repair the damage he’d done. He moved in close, pressing his forehead against Sam’s and holding him tightly. “It’s okay, Sammy.” His voice was still slightly hoarse. “What did I say? I told you I’d be back.”

“You fucking asshole,” he sobbed. “How the hell could you do that?!”

Dean tried to brush some of the tears away. “I had to.”

“Fuck you! It was stupid and reckless and—how could you make me see you like that?”

“Sam, I—I’m sorry about that. But it worked. It worked, okay? Cas’s got a free one-way ticket upstairs when the time comes.” He looked over at the angel only long enough to see his reaction—shock and pure joy—before turning back to his soulmate. “Man, I didn’t want you to get hurt. You know that. But I had to do it, Sammy. And I’d do it again if I needed to. For the three of us. For this family.”

The answer didn’t seem like enough for Sam, but it was a good start. He calmed at least by half. Trying to absorb the information, he turned his gaze to Cas. But when he spoke, it was to address his brother. “How?”

“Me and Gabriel had a chat, and he gave Cas the okay.” More like, Dean poured his heart out, and the archangel toyed with him before accepting his request. But that was still basically what happened. “And we don’t have to worry about it anymore. It’s done. Cas is stuck with us forever.”

“Dean, I—” But the angel couldn’t think of words profound enough to express how he felt. He wasn’t sure such words even existed. How could he tell him how grateful he was? Or how utterly overwhelmed by happiness and relief? Dean was alive, and Cas would get to spend the rest of his earthly life with him. And when it came to an end? He would die and live on in Heaven—like a human would—and he’d do so with the people he loved more than anything.

Whatever he intended convey, it didn’t need to be spoken aloud. The older Winchester understood. For years, the thought of losing Cas haunted him. It tore him apart and robbed him of any confidence to speak of. It interrupted his life with them, made him controlling and generally difficult to handle. He didn’t want to be like that, to upset them or keep them from the things they enjoyed. But he hadn’t been able to shake it. He just couldn’t. Not without fixing the problem.

As it fully sunk in for him, Dean couldn’t be happier. He had everything he wanted.

Didn’t he?

Hitting the pause button on his mental celebrations, he studied his companions—particularly Sam, who looked worse than Dean did. He could keel over at any moment. Pale. Sickly. A guy, who couldn’t help but heal every ailment he had, appeared positively ill. And Dean knew he’d caused it. It was his fault. The notes he left hadn’t helped to soften the blow of him dying. He could only imagine what Sam’d gone through.

How’d Gabriel put it?

 _Torture_.

Honestly, he didn’t want to think about it, and a large part of him didn’t want to know. He hated the idea of having hurt him. And he hated himself for doing it, even though he knew it was the right thing to do. “You look like hell, dude,” he brushed some of Sam’s hair out of his face and held it back. “I-uh, I tried to get back as fast as I could.”

Sam closed his eyes, and tears escaped from beneath the lashes. “We were gonna bury you,” his voice wavered.

“Not until the end of the week,” Cas corrected. “We decided we’d—we’d give it a week.”

Dean cringed. “So, it’s… been awhile, huh?”

“You don’t know?!” The healer was close to hysterics. “Three days! You were dead for three fucking days, Dean!” In fact, it was closer to three and a half.

What? No, it couldn’t be…

“Shh,” Cas put his hand on the man’s arm. “It’s not the same in Heaven, Sam. Umm.” He cleared his throat and looked at Dean. “Time, I mean. Time moves differently. What feels like a few minutes in Heaven could be hours here. Hell is the opposite. A couple of days on Earth is a month there.”

Dean felt lightheaded. While he was living it up in a seaside paradise, his soulmate and angel were mourning for _days_. “Oh, man. I—dude—I’m sorry. Sammy, I didn’t—”

But before he could finish, Sam embraced him and pressed his face into the side of Dean’s neck. “You don’t get it. I’m not okay without you here,” he whispered.

No kidding, Cas thought with a touch of contempt.

“I know,” Dean tried to hold him as close as possible. He felt so frail. “Hey, have you eaten anything?” When his soulmate didn’t reply, “Not so much, huh? Me neither.” He gave an uneasy chuckle. “It’s gotta be pretty late, but I sure could go for a sandwich. How about you? C’mon. Let’s go downstairs for awhile, and I’ll make you one. We can, uh, we can talk, too.” He squeezed him tight before standing. “What do you say, Sammy?”

He looked up at him with a forlorn, tired expression. “I’m not really hungry, Dean.”  
  
“You have to eat,” Cas cut in. Though his healing power kept him upright, Sam was losing weight alarmingly fast, and he appeared incredibly weak. Despite numerous attempts, and with a very good reputation around the house when it came to cooking, Cas hadn’t been able to get any food into him. Some water and a few crackers, but he had to pester Sam for hours to accomplish it.

Maybe the older Winchester would have more luck now.

Dean offered him his hand. It took him a moment, but he eventually latched on. The man pulled Sam to his feet and slid one arm around him at the waist. He reached down with the other and touched Cas’s chin. “Back soon.”

The angel had a hunch already that he wasn’t invited to this late night snack, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise when he was excluded. Obviously, Dean would want to do some damage control with Sam. And though the ordeal had been very rough on Cas, as well—more than their recently resurrected companion knew—he could overlook it in favor of happiness at the end result.

At least for now.

He would get plenty of time with Dean later. And, anyway, he was far too exhausted for any sort of conversation. Sam didn’t sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time while Dean was gone, so neither did he. He couldn’t let Sam out of his sight for fear of what he might do. He’d even taken all the razors out of each bathroom and hid them in the guest bedroom. Though Sam swore he wouldn’t try again, Cas was determined to remove all temptation.

With the Winchesters making amends via cold cuts downstairs, he might be able to finally rest without interruption or fear. He could still hear their steps as he started to doze off.

***

The two headed down to the kitchen, turning on lights as they went along. As Sam took a seat, Dean opened the fridge and started pulling out supplies.

There were empty beer cans scattered around the countertops. A bag of ruffled potato chips left open. Candy wrappers. Somehow, he highly doubted Sam was the culprit, given his healthy habits and Cas’s sweet tooth. But it made sense. If Sam was utterly lost and frantic, on top of Dean being dead, their angel would need _something_ to help himself cope. He could’ve done a lot worse than junk food and booze in Dean’s opinion.

Before starting in on sandwich construction, he threw most of the cans into their recycling bin, tossed the garbage, and cinched the chip bag closed. Selecting four pieces of bread from a half-finished loaf, he split them onto two plates and reached for some Swiss cheese.

“How ‘not okay’?” he asked without looking at him.

Sam stifled a sob. The muscles in his chest still seized despite his best efforts to stop them. “Cease to function,” he pronounced each word slowly.

Selecting sliced chicken for them both, he layered his with more cheese and added lettuce for Sam.

“And?” 

“Isn’t that enough?’

Mustard, applied gingerly to his and liberally to Sam’s. The fancy stuff with the little flecks. “I know you. Better than the back of my hand, okay? And dude, with your deal, you coulda,” he gulped, putting the supplies down, “you coulda hurt yourself and healed already, and I never would know unless you or Cas told me. And I’m sure he’ll fill me in, eventually. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

“I tried.”

“What happened?”

“I fucked things up with Cas. Big time.” The tears were back. Sam was genuinely surprised that he had any left to shed. He felt so empty. “Dean, he tried to stop me. I didn’t wanna be stopped.”

It couldn’t have been _that_ bad, could it? They were wrapped up in each other when he found them—literally as close as two sleeping people could be with their clothes still on. “Well, yeah, I told him to stop you.”

“I’m bigger than he is.”

“So?”

“Dean, I really, really didn’t want to be stopped.”

“So, what, you yelled at him? Said some shit that you shouldn’t’ve? Dude, you were upset. It happens. Look, I dunno what you said, but Cas is tougher than he acts. If you apologize, he’ll be okay. It might take a little time, but he’s probably already over it.”

Sam shook his head. “I hit him.”

Dean stepped away from the food, walked about half the distance, and stared down at him. “You mean you _shoved_ him. Right, Sammy? Like, you shoved him out of the way?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?!”

Visibly shaking, “I didn’t—shove him, Dean. I hit him. Like a one-sided bar brawl. I was gonna use your gun on—on myself, but he took it. And I didn’t think. And I hit him. More than once.” He broke down again and buried his face in his hands. “How can he ever trust me again?!”

Or how could Dean, for that matter?

He didn’t know how to react. If it were any other person who dared to lay a hand on Cas, he’d kill them. Slowly and efficiently. And he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Nobody got to touch him. Not Crowley—though he’d dropped the ball on that one—not angels, and certainly not people.

The guy was practically defenseless. Most of the time, it seemed like he _preferred_ being kind and gentle and completely vulnerable. He strove for that. It was in stark contrast to Dean, and it was one of the reasons he loved him so much. Along with wanting to spend eternity with him, this was exactly the motivation for protecting him as much as he did. Cas should get to be that way, if he wanted. The world was a terrible place, but if the walls were built up enough, if their home was safe enough, it didn’t have to ruin Cas. It didn’t have to destroy him.

But this was Sam.

His little brother. His soulmate.

Before Cas, Sam was his everything. Now, they were two equal parts of his world. But Sam still meant just as much. He and Dean were connected, and they were very clearly incapable of living apart.

And Dean had essentially constructed a situation where he pitted the two most important people in his life against each other. He told Cas to keep Sam alive at any cost, and, at the same time, he made it so Sam would do anything to die. He was at fault for the consequences.

But he never expected this.

Sam wasn’t exactly prone to violence. The healing job matched his personality perfectly. He loved helping people. And he was a total nerd. Even when they were hunters, he spent more time with his head in a book than playing with and using weapons. But when he put his mind to it, he was a force to be reckoned with. The size helped. A lifetime of training helped. And when he was in a fight, he cleared his mind of everything else. It was only about coming out on top. Even Dean couldn’t do that.

Though it killed the older Winchester to think about, he knew Sam could easily do plenty of damage to Cas if he—God, if he wanted to.

The angel didn’t have a scratch on him, of course, so Dean couldn’t assess the damage at all. “And then, what, you healed him?” He couldn’t hide his anger. Cas was just doing what Dean asked. He didn’t deserve to be hurt at all, let alone to get worked over by someone he loved and trusted.

“I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know. I really didn’t mean to—I swear.” He could hardly catch his breath. “Of course I healed him! It never shoulda happened in the first place.” Turning away, he couldn’t bear to look at him. “In a million years, I’m never gonna forgive myself. Even if he does. But he shouldn’t. I hurt him. I fucking betrayed him. How can we ever get back what I ruined?” he cried. “We can’t. There’s no way.”

“You screwed up, but—”

“Don’t do that.” He sniffed loudly. “Don’t you fucking forgive me, Dean. Just ‘cause it’s me. You should be pissed. Hell, I’m furious with myself. But you should wanna kill me.”

Dean turned around and headed back for the sandwiches. He collected the bags of supplies, stacked them, and returned each to preordained locations within their fridge. Pausing with his hand on the door, “Listen, you screwed up. And I am not at all okay with what you did, Sammy.”

He used a commanding voice Sam hadn’t heard in a long time. Dean only employed it when he was absolutely certain what he was saying should be listened to and followed, to the letter.

“Seriously. I _am_ pissed. I mean, what the fuck, Sam? It’s Cas. _Our_ Cas. Dude, what the hell? I didn’t think you could do anything like this. And I didn’t think you were this _weak_. I knew you wouldn’t be okay, and it’s on me, what I did. But fuck, if I’d known this was gonna happen, I woulda cuffed you to my work bench. And I’m serious.”

He stopped short of asking how bad it was, how much physical damage had been done. He didn’t want to know.

“You should’ve,” he agreed.

“Man, I can’t believe you would do that. Damnit, Sammy.” He rubbed at his forehead in frustration. After a long pause, “But here’s the thing. Any way you spin it, this wouldn’t’ve happened if I hadn’t taken the bullet train to angel land. I thought you were tougher than this. I really did. And I dunno, maybe you still are. Maybe what we have trumps all that. Makes us desperate. I guess it was just—too much for you. We found your breaking point. It’s me.”

“And Cas got to pay the price.”

Dean shrugged. He added the final pieces of bread to each sandwich, pushed both of them down, and then cut them in half diagonally. Picking up the plates, he walked back over and set Sam’s meal down in front of him. He took a seat at the other end of the table.

A mouthful of his food yielded an involuntary moan. He really hadn’t eaten in days, and he was starving.

Resolute, Dean refused to continue the conversation until Sam started in on the offering. It took awhile, but eventually he coaxed a few small bites out of him.


	30. Sometimes Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

“You’re just gonna have to fix it.”

Sam scoffed. “How?”

“I dunno. Talk to him. Apologize until you’re freakin’ blue in the face. Give him some room if he needs it. Start over from scratch if you have to. But make it work. Whatever you gotta do.” He demolished what was left of the first half of his sandwich and moved on to the second. With his mouth still partially full, “But I’ll tell ya, you’re not gonna be alone in that at all, if it helps. I’d say I got plenty of apologizing to do on my own. Right?”

“This isn’t your fault, Dean.”

“Yeah, it is.” He smiled dismissively. “I guess I didn’t really have a handle on it.”

Sam brought the food to his mouth and bit in, but by the look on his face, he wasn’t enjoying the action. “It’s not healthy,” the healer said quietly. “How close we are. How dependent. It’s crazy. I don’t feel like a person without you. You died, and I woulda done anything to join you. I didn’t care about Cas or anything else. I couldn’t help it.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Would you get rid of it—our connection—if you could?”

“What? No! No. I mean, I just wish we could—I dunno. Part of me wishes sometimes we could just have a more normal kind of relationship, you know? Just normally in love. I’d still be devastated at losing you, but I wouldn’t turn into a fucking monster.”

“Okay, first off, you’re not a monster, Sammy.” Exasperated, he grabbed him by the shirt and forced him to make eye contact. “And I don’t know if normal would even be possible for us. The whole reason we’re together is this bond. You know that. Kill it, and we might not even wanna be with each other.”

It was a cold truth, but worth saying.

Not that he was happy to admit it. The thought terrified Dean. And not because it was out of their control. If everything hinged on that connection, then removing it might kill what they had. With a wave of some magic hand, their bond could possibly be dissolved. And would their love go with it? Or at least the romantic part? Or would it stay, since they had all the memories, all the work put into building a solid relationship?

Cas had long insisted there was no way it could happen, though. Their souls would sooner be destroyed. The bond was permanent. It was a part of them.

“If being together means we’re this screwed up, I’ll take it,” Dean concluded. “We just gotta stick together. All three of us. And try to think things through better.”

“You think he’ll ever forgive me?” Sam’s expression held a child-like fear that tore into his soulmate’s heart.

Who knows? That kind of betrayal would be more than a little tough to move past.

But Dean nodded reassuringly. “Eternity is a really long time, and Cas isn’t exactly the grudge-holding type. Besides, if he didn’t want anything to do with you, I don’t think he would’ve been holding onto you like he was, do you?”

“I wish. He was just doing what you asked, Dean. Making sure I didn’t hurt myself. I promised him I wouldn’t try again, but he doesn’t believe me. So, he hasn’t let me out of his sight. I don’t blame him. He has no reason to trust me, and I don’t think I ever stopped thinking about doing it.” He hung his head. “Not until you were back.”

He hadn’t considered that. It seemed so intimate. The way they were sleeping on each other. But that was exactly something Cas would do. To hell with his own personal comfort, he would make sure Sam didn’t have a chance to end his life, if only because Dean pleaded for him to do it. Even if he hated Sam now—a thought that despite everything still seemed very unlikely—he’d do it for Dean.

Finishing his food much less enthusiastically, the older Winchester pointed at Sam’s plate. “Think you could eat more?”

Though he looked positively forlorn, Sam picked up the meal and set about trying to digest it. He got about two-thirds of the way before giving up. But it was still something. Dean stood and took the few steps toward him. When he was within reach, Sam hooked both arms around his legs and pressed his cheek against Dean’s stomach. He couldn’t form sentence to save his life, but the action spoke for itself.

“ _I need you. I missed you. I’m really glad you’re here._ ”

Dean let out a breath and rested his hand on Sam’s head. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like his brother was about to start crying again. He got the feeling Sam’d been doing it pretty much non-stop since he’d checked out. “It’s gonna be okay, Sammy.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, yeah. Dude, you haven’t slept in days. Come on.” He tugged on his shirt to tell him he should stand. “Let’s go upstairs, and you can get some real rest. I-uh, I haven’t cleaned up the bedroom yet. Wanna switch to the guest room tonight?”

It might take him awhile. The area rug and curtains would probably have to be thrown out entirely, and some of the stains might be harder to vanquish than many of the monsters they used to fight.

“Okay,” was all the younger man said.

Without another word, Dean walked Sam up to the second floor and dumped him onto the smaller bed. But he didn’t immediately climb in with him. “Gimme a sec.”

Across the hall, he found Cas spread out awkwardly on the couch—asleep, but hardly comfortable. He must’ve passed out as soon as Dean took the healer off of his hands. The light was still on. Crouching down by his side, Dean gently shook him until his eyes fluttered open.

“Hmm?” he answered sleepily. The sight of the older Winchester produced a subtle smile on his lips.

“Hey, uh, we’re headin’ to bed—in the other room, you know, because of the mess. Wanna come with us? That looks freakin’ painful.”

Cas groaned, sitting up a little. “Maybe I’ll sleep upstairs.”

Dean’s heart sank. “‘Cause of Sam?”

“What’d he tell you?”

“Enough.” He reached for the angel and embraced him. “Cas, I’m so sorry. I really am. I didn’t—I don’t want anything to ever happen to you. You know that, right?”

Cas seemed confused for a moment. Then, “It’s just—” but he stopped. Tilting his head to one side, “We should talk.”

“I dunno if I can take any more crying in one night,” he confessed honestly. And the wounds might not feel so raw to Cas, either, after some decent sleep. “What if I take you out for breakfast in the morning? Anywhere you want. We can talk then, if it’s okay with you. With clearer heads.”

He looked like he might object, but then he decided against it. “I don’t know if that bed can fit all three of us.” Physically and emotionally.

Dean managed to smile a little. “We’ll just have to get really close.”

That garnered him a kiss, which Cas delivered firmly. Apart from tangling with Sam, the angel had not gotten through their partner’s death unscathed. He’d thought there was a good chance he may never see him again. Though the worry was long gone now, it produced a lingering effect: he wanted to kiss and touch Dean as much as possible, if only to further confirm he was alive and would always be with him. Even the slightest bit of levity was excuse enough. It felt good to be near him.

“I’ll kick him if he snores,” he added.

Cas laughed. It was sweet and genuine, and Dean had thought for sure he would have to wait much longer than this to hear it again.

The angel acquiesced. Sam was barely awake when they both crawled into bed. He didn’t move, save to drape one arm across Dean’s side as he settled in. Cas tucked himself into Dean’s grasp, facing away. Though he didn’t particularly want to share a bed with Sam right now, positioned as he was, he could almost pretend it was just the two of them. And in the next minute, exhaustion overtook him, and he no longer cared.

***

Waiting in line impatiently, Dean tried not to seem too uncomfortable.

Cas’s choice was a predictable one. He adored the little café, as much for its food and drink as for what it represented. Acceptance. Safety. Confidence in who you are.

Like many of the small businesses in their area that weren’t solely catering to tourists, this place was not only gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender-friendly, but it went to great lengths to make sure everyone knew it. A giant rainbow flag hanging near the door was only the beginning. Two shelves featured a small selection of books for sale that were focused on the subject. The walls were covered in photos, artwork, and flyers—all in the same theme. Even the paper coffee cups had pink triangles on them.

For Dean, it was all too much. The symbols and flags and parades and everything else under the “gay pride” umbrella didn’t mean anything. Not really. Not to him. All they did was point out who was different—who was vulnerable. By merit of just being in a place like this, Dean was outing himself. He was telling others more than they deserved to know. And what would stop them from using it against him?

Cas didn’t think of it that way at all. He felt welcomed here. Like the whole place knew him. It was community. It was extended family. In happier times, he loved bringing Sam here. And not only to show him off to the other regulars. He could share it with him. The feeling the coffee house conveyed. It was okay to love yourself, to love who you were. And others would, too. Even complete strangers.

The older Winchester had been here just once before, and only long enough to decide it wasn’t for him. But he’d made a promise, which he intended to honor.

When the line moved so that they could look into the glass case, filled with sugary confections, Cas lit up and pointed. “They have pie today.” If anything would improve the man’s mood, this particular variety of pastry would.

Dean’s eyes widened. Pie could certainly help him overlook the onslaught of rainbows assaulting his senses. Before he could wonder aloud as to whether or not it was store-bought, a waitress answered the question. “Got it in fresh from the farmer’s market this morning. Amish-made. Organic apples. Insanely good, I promise!”

Food like that—they never skimped on real butter and sugar. Dean’s stomach growled.

When they got to the register, Cas ordered some hot cider and a chocolate croissant. He slid one arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him closer. “What about you?”

“Umm, some pie and-uh,” he looked up at the complicated menu of coffees and smoothies. Wincing, “Just a small coffee.”

After a barista rang them up and handed Dean his drink, the two sauntered over to a small couch and curled themselves up in it. There were only two or three actual tables in the tiny establishment, and the rest were soft chairs and sofas. Cas appreciated the closeness. They waited patiently for the rest of their meal, unwilling to start the very serious conversation until the food arrived. But when it did, Dean could stall no longer.

“He told me what happened,” Dean said only loud enough for Cas to hear. He sure as hell didn’t need the other over-caffeinated café-goers to be privy to their conversation. “I mean, mostly.”

They’d left Sam alone in the house to grab breakfast, but Dean told himself there wasn’t much reason to worry. With his ass firmly planted on Earth, Sam wouldn’t dare do anything that could tear them apart again. And, anyway, his brother said he wanted to get himself back in working order, so that he could start taking patients again in a few days.

Cas picked up his drink, which was housed in a large red mug and topped off with whipped cream, and cradled it in both hands. It was too hot to sip, but the warmth of holding it gave him some small amount of comfort. “We didn’t really see eye-to-eye on how to deal with,” he paused to look around, “your sudden vacation.”

“I knew it was gonna be bad, but I really didn’t think that was gonna happen. Seriously.” He reached for his food, but despite being famished moments earlier, he didn’t take a bite. His stomach twisted in knots. Everything was not okay in his kingdom, and he needed to fix it before he could enjoy their life together again.

The angel’s expression changed from a sort of morose calm to annoyance. He raised an eyebrow and then glared at him. “Then you didn’t think about it for very long.”

He resisted a strong urge to go on the defensive. “Cas, I tried. I really did. I thought about it for days, pretty much nonstop. How to do it. When. What might happen. But I swear to you, I never thought he would touch you. I still can’t believe it. I mean, I know it happened, but I can’t picture him doing a thing like that.”

Cas rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“You think that bothers me as much as him trying to kill himself? Which is something you _knew_ would happen?!” he only barely tried to keep his voice down. “God damnit, Dean.”

“Cas,” was all the angel let him get out.

“Listen, getting my face punched in by a distraught kid I love wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. And I keep reliving it every time I’m around him. Like if I turn my back on Sam or say the wrong thing, it’ll just happen again. I dunno if that will ever go away. But if you think that this even scratches the surface—knowing _why_ he did it—”

For a moment, Cas could no longer form a full sentence. He stopped to take a breath, and then sipped at his drink.

Slowing it down, “Dean, I’m even more upset because he didn’t think twice about leaving me, about forcing me to lose both of you within a few minutes of each other. He didn’t care. You were thinking we could go on without you, together, but the thought didn’t even cross his mind. He just wanted out. And I was in his way.”

Dean had to put down his fork, which clicked against his plate as his hand trembled. It really was his fault, then. The rift between them. He knew quite well that Sam wouldn’t want to go on. He said as much in both of his letters. And he knew the death would devastate Cas, too. But he hadn’t thought about how much pain it would cause the angel to witness it. And how easy it would be for Sam and Cas’s relationship to fracture along the way.

Maybe that really was the bigger problem. Not the fist fight, but the feeling of betrayal.

Emotionally, the violence bothered them because it felt too much like domestic abuse—and in some ways perhaps it was—even though the circumstances were very, very different from some drunk husband beating up his wife. If you’re in a relationship with someone, and you hit them, then you’re a monster. That was common knowledge. In most normal situations, it would be true.

But their situation was anything but normal. The Winchesters could not literally, physically live without each other. While what happened was inconceivable, Sam was no abuser. He didn’t even really have a short temper, and it was incredibly unlikely that anything like this would ever happen a second time.

Assuming their angel would ever let Sam get close again.

Even if he _could_ get past the violence and temporary damage to his person, Cas was hurting on a much deeper level. Why wasn’t he good enough to be worth living for? Why wasn’t he important enough to be protected? He didn’t deserve to get beat up, and he positively did not deserve to be abandoned.

Wasn’t he worth more than that? Hadn’t he worked so incredibly hard for their love and their acceptance? Hadn’t he given up enough of himself? Sam knew all about that, and what did he do? He took even more. He stole the gift of Cas’s devotion and smashed it to pieces in favor of a mad dash toward suicide.

And it wasn’t just Sam. If they wanted to die, when they both knew at the time that they would never see him again—assuming Dean was unsuccessful—then they didn’t really love him, did they? Or not nearly enough. So, the beat down was just icing on the cake. Sam wanted to die so much that he would hurt him further in order to do it.

The success of the mission perhaps reaffirmed Dean’s love for him. Maybe that could be chalked up to a reckless need to do everything possible to help. But Sam? No. No, he didn’t truly love Cas. Not enough. How could he, if he wanted to leave him? If he wanted to hurt him?

Dean felt ill.

This problem had no easy fix. If it was even possible, it could take months of work for Sam and Cas to get back on the right road together, and much longer for them to regain what they once had.

It killed him to think about. As the third party—and arguably the reason the other two hooked up in the first place—Dean got a kick out of watching them together. They were perfect. The way they looked at each other. How they seemed to just fall in step and connect. Like when good friends just sort of ended up entangled romantically. They had so much fun together.

In order to save Cas in the long run, he’d ruined something wonderful. He’d robbed them of that. Though he thought with rare optimism that they could eventually return what was lost, it would take a long, long time. And it might never be the natural, relaxed thing it once was.

Maybe he could help, at least. “He loves you,” Dean said semi-confidently. With the memory of Sam desperately asking if he thought Cas would ever forgive him, there could be little doubt. “Probably didn’t seem like it at the time, I know. But I think this connection thing just kinda took over. When it broke, it drove him crazy.”

Cas took a long drink of his cider. “It’s easy for you and him, you know? It doesn’t matter what either of you does, you’ll always love each other. Always want to be together. You two, you could walk in opposite directions and still end up at each other’s sides. And I dunno, maybe it’s sorta the same with you and me. I’d go to Hell and back for you if I had to, and you went all the way to Heaven, only to leave—for me. And that’s just—”

He stopped, his mouth hanging open for a moment. Then, he abruptly brought his lips together and covered them with one hand. His head turned, and his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond the café’s front windows.

The angel wasn’t surprised that the subject matter got him a little emotional, but he didn’t want to embarrass Dean, or himself, by bawling in public. Eventually, he reined it in. Turning back to him, “It’s really great, what you did for me, Dean. I can’t tell you.” He managed a slight smile, but it faded quickly. “I don’t see Sam doing something like that. Not for me. He has a big heart—enough so that there’s been room for me in the past—but he doesn’t love me like he does you. Or like you do for him or me. He says he does, and a lot of the time he wants to, but his actions prove he doesn’t. And no matter what happens, I don’t think he ever will.”


	31. Don’t Stop at the Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Dean took a big bite of his pie. It was delicious, but he found it difficult to stomach, thanks to the conversation’s subject matter. He took a giant swig of his neglected coffee to wash it down and avoid gagging. “He fucked up big time,” Dean acknowledged. “But I think you’re wrong about him.”

“No offense, but you’re biased.”

True. Dean had one hell of a hard time admitting that Sam—his Sammy—could do anything wrong. But he was right about this. He was sure of it. “Probably, but I think if you look at all of his actions—I mean everything he’s done since we met you—”

“Like what?” Cas didn’t pull any punches. He was just as certain of his argument. And he was hurt. Massively, deeply hurt. “Getting cute at a street fair or cozying up for a movie doesn’t mean I really, truly matter when push literally comes to shove, Dean.”

“That stuff isn’t worthless, either,” Dean countered, “but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He gulped. He really didn’t want to bring it up, but… “When you left. Sam had me to himself. For the most part, he was happy that way. But when you came back and started to hang out with him? He met with you for months without telling me. He hid that from _me_. And though we didn’t really give him a whole lot of reason to, he accepted you back into our lives, and you guys hit it off again. That’s gotta count for something.”

“He did that because he wanted you to be happy.”

Dean shook his head. “No, dude, I don’t think so. Not completely. You didn’t see the way he was. He wouldn’t’a shared me with anybody, especially not you. He was pissed. More than I was. But then you showed up again, and he let you back in. And then he brought you back to me.” Another drink from his coffee certainly wouldn’t help his nerves, but Dean needed an excuse to stop talking for a few seconds.

“And I don’t mean to guilt you with this,” he continued. “At all. Sam shouldn’t have hurt you. Period. And I know if he could go back, he sure as hell wouldn’t do it again. He’d find a way to stop himself. He feels like shit over it. And I wish, like you wouldn’t believe, that it hadn’t happened. I mean, fuck, I really didn’t want that to happen.”

He had to stop for a moment to avoid getting more emotional than he could handle. The last thing he needed was to start weeping in public at a place like this. “But I _know_ he loves you, Cas. I’ve seen it in action. I just—I’m not saying you have to forgive him or anything. He really hurt you. And you don’t have to put up with that or accept it or anything. But we’ve got eternity together now. So, if you wanted to give him another chance, down the line, there’s gonna be time to work it out.”

“I still love him,” the angel muttered, as though even that could be in question.

Well, why wouldn’t it be? What Sam did—that’s not something you do to someone you love, Dean reasoned, even though his brother still obviously cared about Cas. That kind of damage—Cas would have every right to walk away, to tell Sam to fuck off and never once reconsider. And honestly, though he hated every ounce of the thought, Dean told himself he would have to accept that if it came to it. If he loved and respected Cas as much as he contended—and he did, so much—then he would have no choice.

He couldn’t push him or force him to reconcile with Sam. Not after this. He had no right to.

And his soulmate would have to earn any future affections from Cas.

Nonetheless, it was good to hear that the angel hadn’t been driven off completely when it came to Sam. He was determined to hold out hope that they could work it out, eventually. Dean nodded once. “Well, that’s a start. And we have forever to fix the rest.”

“Forever.” The faintest hints of a smile formed at the corners of his mouth, and Dean could tell Cas was about to change the subject. “We haven’t had a chance to celebrate. This is everything you wanted.”

That and happiness for the three of them.

Dean let out a breath he’d been holding in. He leaned over, touched Cas’s cheek, and kissed him softly. The angel held him there by the back of his neck. There were dozens of people packed into that little café, and there could be no doubt that quite a few saw. But Cas didn’t care. He needed the one-on-one time with Dean. And he knew the man would overcome his lingering fear of public displays of affection if Cas made him just a little bit excited.

But this time, that wasn’t necessary. The older Winchester would’ve done anything to cheer Cas up. He deserved to be happy. Dean just wanted to make him happy. And maybe if he was, things would go more smoothly for him and Sam to get back on the right track—someday.

“You wanted it, too, right? Heaven, I mean.” He stopped short of mentioning how much Sam did, as well. It probably didn’t seem like the healer cared all that much, given the rush to join his soulmate upstairs. Dean knew he did—that the idea of losing Cas pained him deeply. But that wasn’t important right now.

Cas’s nose brushed up against his. “Yes, of course! Not enough for you to risk yourself, but yeah. Definitely. I think I’m still in shock a little, to be honest. I thought for sure I’d end up losing you eventually. Not having to worry about it, and knowing we’ll get to be together in the Kingdom after this life—it’s amazing, Dean. It’s really amazing.”

“I’m in no hurry to end up back there, but it’s gonna be a lot of fun. When the time comes.”

His face lit up further. “Oh yeah? What did you see? What was it like? I’ve been to that level a few times, but it’s different for every soul.” He picked up his croissant and took a big bite. Flakes of the pastry fell onto his lap. A little embarrassed at the mess, he wiped at his face with a large napkin and brushed away the crumbs.

Dean blushed a little. There was something very private about the answer. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, or even why he felt that way. But if he could tell anyone, he could tell Cas. “It was you. At that beach house we rented.”

Grinning, “Like that two hour-long shower we took?”

He laughed. “No! Just-uh, just you, drunk on the deck the first morning. I dunno why—but I remember you seemed so happy and relaxed, and you looked incredible.” He leaned back to get a better glimpse of him. “Not that you don’t look really freakin’ good right now, too.”

Smiling sweetly, Cas stared at him for a long time. “Your first memory in Heaven was me?”

“Yeah,” he beamed. “What, you’re surprised?”

“Uh, no, I mean—I dunno. I guess I thought it would be Sam.”

“He was there, too, after awhile. But yeah, it was you.” He motioned for Cas to come closer on the couch, and when he did, Dean draped one arm over his shoulders. His free hand found the neglected plate of apple pie, which he balanced on his knee. Unceremoniously, he began digging into the food with his fork. “I didn’t want to leave. If it’d actually been you and him, I never would have.”

“Earth’s not so bad,” he kissed Dean by his ear. “The more you enjoy your life here, the better Heaven will be. It’s like collecting different paints and brushes. When you get around to making the art, there’s so much more to work with. More beauty. More to look at and experience.”

Cas took another drink of his cider. It was closer to room temperature, now, but still enjoyable. “With the time we have left here, we should travel. A lot. Think of it like keeping a bunch of souvenirs. Your soul remembers everything good, even if you forget it. I already know what much of the world looks like, but I have a hunch that only your memories—and Sam’s—will work upstairs. We could go wherever you want. But we should go.”

“Might be good to get our asses out of the house, too,” Dean agreed. What better way for Sam and Cas to get close again than for them to have some fun together on an extended vacation? They could go tomorrow if they wanted to. Sam would do anything to get back in the angel’s good graces. And Cas’s impromptu break would last at least another two months. Plenty of time for a short world tour.

And, if Cas was right about the heavenly movie theater just drawing from the Winchesters’ memories, then this would be the only way they could sneak in some of Cas’s favorite places. “Where do _you_ wanna go?”

He could have named a dozen locales easily. But he found the question strange. “Dean! You spend so much time forgetting yourself. I tell you to go out and experience the world, and your first thought is what I might want!” Cas leaned against him. Sure, he could use the added TLC, but everything didn’t have to be about him. “When are you gonna live just for you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s kinda what _you’re_ for.”

Dean was reluctant to admit it, but he did have a small self-esteem issue, didn’t he? He never thought—and still didn’t think—that he was any sort of catch, especially not to someone with drastically more experience with other men. Doubly so for a thousands of years-old cosmic being. He got why Sam loved him. The connection, the history, and their mortally entangled lives made it happen, no matter what

But Cas? If things had turned out differently, he could’ve had any other guy with the right inclinations. He just had that way about him. It drove people crazy.

For some reason, Cas’d taken an interest in Dean. He really, truly loved him. And rather than question it, the older Winchester somehow allowed himself the luxury of loving and enjoying him back. From their earliest conversation, which led to the beginning of Dean’s first real relationship, to forgiving Cas and building a life together, it was all because he wanted to. He didn’t need another person to devote himself to. He just wanted Cas in his life.

On some level, he eventually believed he deserved what they had.

If nothing else could be counted as Dean letting himself be happy—selfishly happy—then Cas was it. Though he jumped at the chance to put Cas first, just like he did with Sam, their relationship was something Dean helped build for himself. To be happy. To be voluntarily loved. Not out of obligation or some psychic connection—though he also valued and loved Sam so much it hurt—but out of pure enjoyment.

Cas could feel his cheeks flushing. He looked down at his drink with a smirk painted on his face. “You mean our relationship? That shouldn’t be the only thing you do for yourself, Dean. But I’m flattered.”

He finished his pie in a few bites before responding. “It’s just, I dunno, I think getting with you was actually the first thing I ever did for me. First permanent, solid thing. Everything else was just for the thrill or for—for other people.”

Turning to look at him, Cas placed both hands at the edges of his face. “You know you’re adorable when you get like this.”

“Get like what?”

“Uh, well—romantic. And emotional.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, c’mon! Cas, I’m really not—” But he shut his mouth abruptly. It was true. Of course it was true. “God damnit.”

“I think it’s okay,” he laughed reassuringly, “to show weakness every once in awhile, Dean. At least around me. I can keep a secret. I promise. Who am I gonna tell?”

“Oh, like you don’t gossip with your college pals!”

Cas kissed him, mostly to shut him up. After a few wonderful moments, “I generally just talk about how sexy you are.” He shrugged. “But in the two or three times I’ve seen them since coming back home, they just ask if I remember anything from being kidnapped by aliens with black eyes.”

Dean sighed. They’d done well at lying to the cops, but Cas’s friends had _seen_ the demons. Though the angel contended he didn’t remember anything like that, they had the advantage of all witnessing the same thing—and also of being right.

The human finished his coffee, balanced the cup on his plate, and set both down on the table in front of them. He got up and turned to face Cas. “Wanna get goin’?”

He nodded. Standing, he quickly ended up back in Dean’s arms. “I love you, you know.”

“Well, yeah.” With a smirk, he sauntered out of the café, leaving Cas to follow behind him. He had no problem telling him he loved him in return, with both words and actions. But playing hard to get now and then did wonders for his sex life. And he couldn’t wait to put his earthly body back to good use.

***

It took every valuable spell in her book to bring Rosa to this place. Scrying, location spells, masking her presence—the works. She even constructed fake currency from bar napkins to fund the whole thing. Armed, powered up, and practically steaming with magic energy, she stood quietly outside the back door to a private bar in London. In her right hand, she held the sword that had helped her accomplish so much thus far. Her left was primed and ready to hold the demon in place. Long enough to kill him.

The door was locked. She could open it with her power if she wanted to, but it would be a waste of valuable energy. And anyway, after scoping out the place for the better part of an hour, she knew that busboys regularly used this door to dump trash. She would just have to be patient.

And so she waited, eyeing the lock. When, minutes later, it finally unlatched, she kicked it hard, breaking the nose of the poor sap on the other end. He fell back and onto the floor inside. She caught the door right before it relocked. Striding in, she stepped over the groaning victim and proceeded into the bar area.

He was right there. All of her searching, preparing, and traveling, and the King of Hell was just sitting at a bar having a drink. No fortress. No more than three other demons on-hand. He didn’t even immediately notice her. In fact, no one did—pardoning the busboy, who was beginning to curse behind her—until she picked out the black-eyed creatures amongst normal patrons and started slicing.

One went down right away. Quiet. But a woman, perfectly human, at the far end of the bar began screaming, which alerted the others. Rosa held out her hand toward Crowley to keep him on the stool as she approached the second demon and, with one clean swipe, chopped his head off. The third came at her with a machete of all things, but her blade sliced clean through it, and she took him down with little more than a scratch to her leg.

As normal people began fleeing the establishment, she turned to Crowley. “Miss me?”

He took a long drink of his whiskey and sighed. “Not particularly.”


	32. Fly Away From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Sam stared blankly at the empty seat next to his soulmate. Their flight wouldn’t start boarding for at least another twenty minutes, and Cas wanted to grab a quick snack from one of the overpriced airport eateries.

Despite what his brother asserted, Sam didn’t think the trip would help. His relationship with the angel was functionally destroyed. It was like pulling teeth just to get Cas to talk to him. And even then? Cas seemed to already accept that it was broken and might never be fixed again. His serenity about it cut into Sam the most.

Maybe he didn’t want it to be fixed.

It broke his heart. He loved him. Despite what he did, Sam never felt like he loved or cared about Cas any less.

But he’d fucked it all up, and his companion, whose trust he betrayed, certainly didn’t agree with the assessment of his feelings. In Cas’s mind, the healer obviously didn’t love him as much as he said he did. And deep down, Cas’d known all along, hadn’t he? It was too good to be true for someone so hopelessly addicted to another person to possibly love him just as much. It was unrealistic.

So, even with coaxing from Dean, who desperately wanted his partners to patch things up, Cas was reluctant to take up any heavy lifting when it came to mending things with Sam. What was the point? And moreover, why should he have to tackle the problem when _he_ was the one who got hurt in the first place?

Up against that, Sam wasn’t sure what he could say or do to pick up the pieces of their relationship.

But the longer he hesitated, the worse things got. Cas hardly even looked at him. Though he didn’t seem angry, per say, he was visibly wounded by what Sam did. By knowing that Sam wanted to abandon him, not to mention how easy it was for him to hurt Cas physically. His whole posture changed when they were in relatively close proximity. He was defiant—aloof. If Sam was talking, Cas had nothing to add to the conversation. And when Sam entered a room, Cas would find an excuse to leave.

He even refused to sleep in the same bed. Apart from Dean’s first night back, when he’d been too exhausted to argue, the angel now insisted that he was far more comfortable when only Dean joined him. Of the three nights that followed, Dean spent two with Cas in their main bedroom and one with just Sam. The third man out was exiled to the guest room. Likewise, their booked hotel rooms for the trip all featured two beds.

Dean insisted, however, that Cas was simply waiting to be convinced. Sure, their angel was upset, and he had every right to be, but more than wanting some time to himself, he needed Sam to _prove_ that he still loved him as much as he contended.

And the older Winchester was positively certain this trip would help. Just man up and talk to him, Dean advised. And, you know, be romantic. They’d have like a million chances for Sam to demonstrate how he felt, show Cas a little extra attention, and generally just try and heal the relationship. _Heal_. He used that word on purpose. Sam was good at healing things, his soulmate reasoned, so if he approached the problem like an illness—like their damaged relationship was just a kind of injury—then a solution didn’t seem so out of reach.

And though he refused to pressure Cas, Dean had no intention of letting his companions’ connection die. He didn’t want two people to be devoted to him but hardly speaking to each other. That’s not the earthly paradise he imagined. He didn’t need a harem. He wanted family. A fully functional, complicated, and incredible family. With all the moving parts in working order. To him, it wasn’t an injury. It was a broken part to the engine that ran their lives.

Except it couldn’t be replaced. It had to be repaired. And the whole thing wouldn’t work until it was. He hated alternating nights, hated having to decide who he gave attention to. They were both his, and they were supposed to belong to each other, just as much. That’s how the whole thing _worked_.

He refused to accept anything less.

Sam watched with hollow longing as Cas returned, munching on a dry-looking, pre-packaged sandwich. He wanted desperately to reach out and touch him. To make him feel better, about everything. He even wanted to get him some better food. Anything he could do to not only persuade the angel to like him again but to make everything okay.

His mind searched for ideas on how he might attempt to make amends. Admittedly, he had a few already planned out, but he held zero confidence that Cas would even give him the time of day so that he could try, let alone have them actually work. And allow him to make some headway. But what could he lose trying? Their relationship was breathing its last breaths. He couldn’t let it fail completely.

As the plane started boarding, he reached into Dean’s carry-on: a brown leather, messenger-style bag Sam’d gotten him for Christmas last year. It didn’t take long to find the boarding passes—part of a substantial gift from their old friend Jerry, who they’d helped on a demon case years back. He selected the middle seat for himself and handed the other two to Dean.

It was a choice that guaranteed Cas would be next to him for the entire, lengthy flight.

And, as a result, he knew exactly where the others would be seated. Though his brother had offered to take the center position for the sake of keeping the peace, he strongly favored the aisle, farthest away from the windows. Terrified of flying in planes—more than a little ironic considering he had actual wings—the older Winchester had to give himself a thirty-minute pep talk just to leave for the airport that morning.

Sam gave him a targeted burst of energy to try and counteract it—the equivalent of a small dose of Xanax. Cas had taught him how to sedate one rainy afternoon late that summer, before their falling out. He used himself as a guinea pig, saying that it was the safest, since he would know right away if something was wrong.

But Sam knew that Cas’d volunteered himself out of pure altruism. And the fact that they didn’t tell Dean until after Cas woke up from his healing-induced nap only confirmed Sam’s suspicions.

It came in handy now. The special technique made Dean sluggish and kind of sleepy, and it helped a little. But he was still visibly nervous. The healer promised to administer another round on the plane so Dean could sleep through most of the journey, but he held off while in the airport for fear of putting him out prematurely, or worse, accidentally making the attendants think he was drunk.

So, not only would Cas have to sit with Sam for a few hours, but his other outlet for conversation would probably be unconscious for most of the trip. The angel didn’t have an .mp3 player of his own, either. He usually just borrowed Sam’s.

Cas would have to talk to him. And Sam could just—be as careful and genuine as possible. Maybe they wouldn’t even mention their problems. Just anything he wanted to talk about. What they should do when they landed. What he wanted to see. Hell, maybe just what he hoped to show Dean. Sam didn’t care about the subject matter. He just needed to connect with him again.

His plan was fairly transparent. As they found their seats, and Sam settled into his, Cas let out a sigh. He’d been well-briefed on Dean’s issues with flying. His companion had said at least twice that the only way he could even be on a plane was if he sat near the aisle. But Cas’d been incredibly relieved when, despite everything, Dean offered to sit between them.

Sam tried to recover. Talking to Dean loud enough for Cas to hear, “There’s no reason you have to be a wreck the whole fight.”

“You’re sure?” Dean narrowed his eyes at him. He had a hunch Sam wasn’t doing this entirely for his benefit. The healer wasn’t the best liar among them, and especially not to his own soulmate. And he seemed way too happy to sit in the place where he would be the least physically comfortable.

“Yeah, of course.”

He wasn’t prepared to argue very much. His nerves had him already shaking, and the juice Sam gave him resulted in a sort of calm complacency about the situation. He stood by patiently as Sam got up to let Cas into the window seat before both joined him in their respective seats.

The healer waited until the plane started taxiing before turning to Dean, who was gripping the arms of his chair and mumbling  the chorus to “For Whom the Bell Tolls” by Metallica. He set one hand on the poor guy’s wrist. After a brief caress and a peck on the cheek, Sam gave him the second dose of energy. Another kiss. He lingered near him longer this time. “It’s gonna be okay, Dean.” He’d long since grown accustomed to his partner’s trouble with flying, to the point that he’d learned to be supportive instead of just making fun of him. “I can put you out completely if you want, until we land. No big deal.”

“What?” he replied sluggishly. “No, uh, I-umm. I’m okay.” After a moment, in which his eyelids started to droop, Dean rested his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks, Sammy.”

He buried his nose in Dean’s hair. He smelled enticing. Once they arrived in a warmer climate, Sam was excited to spend some quality time with him. He was _always_ excited by the prospect, and being near him was guaranteed to intensify the feeling, but knowing that they were headed for a tropical paradise? Oh, man.

And maybe, just maybe, he and Cas could enjoy it, too. Together. But he had to get him to talk, first.

It took an hour for Cas to read every single article in the magazine he brought for the flight. And there were three hours left. He stalled by looking out the window at first, but even an angel couldn’t find endless ocean all that interesting. When he started fidgeting in his seat, Sam knew he might be able to get at least a few sentences from him if he took it slow. And there wouldn’t be any other distractions. Dean was asleep and probably would be for at least another hour or so.

“It’s gonna be nice,” he said tentatively.

Cas nodded, but didn’t turn away from the window.

“Uh, you know, to go someplace warm—in the middle of winter.” God, he felt like an idiot. Every word was arduous. It used to be that they could talk for hours without even thinking. Or say nothing and be just as content. Now, he couldn’t even make small talk. But he had to keep trying. “You think it’ll be warm enough for swimming, even in December?”

Raising an eyebrow, Cas snorted. “Grenada’s always warm.”

Though he could hear the spite and ridicule in the angel’s voice, Sam kept at it. “It’s gonna be great.” He tried to put as much caring and calm into that simple statement as possible.

“Hopefully.”

“It will. It’s one of your favorite places, right? And Dean’s always wanted to go to the Caribbean, ever since we were kids. And even if I hated beaches and perfect weather and bright blue water,” he forced himself to laugh, “I just—I’d really like to see you happy.”

“You mean you want to see us together,” he said with a cold tone that sent a shiver through Sam.

Well, yeah. “That, too. If you wanted. But, umm, even if you’re not ready to try again with me, or you never are, I would still want you to be happy. I’ll always want that.”

“Why? If you can’t have me than why do you care?” came out faster and harsher than Cas intended. But he did not apologize or attempt to take it back.

Sam needed a moment to process that. It was the sort of questioning he deserved, but it still hurt. So much. Both the idea that he might never have Cas again, and the implication that he didn’t care about him, or shouldn’t. He shifted his weight in the small airline chair. His knees were pressed against the seat in front of him, and he barely had enough room to move his legs.

Eventually, he managed to form a coherent response. “Because I love you?”

“Right.”

Fuck it. He couldn’t stop himself. He had to say it. “I do. Cas, I really, really do. I know you don’t have a whole lot of reason to believe me, and I’m not asking you to do anything with this information, but I’m always gonna love you. I don’t know how not to. I see you, and I wanna be around you, wanna make you happy. And if I can’t be responsible, if I can’t be the reason you smile over the next few days, then at least something will. The place we’re going. My brother. Little paper umbrellas and sunsets. Whatever. So long as you’re happy.”

When Cas offered no response, he kept going. “I would kill to be the reason, though. Even if it’s just a joke or something small. Even if it’s just once. At the end of the day, after Dean’s passed out, and the sun’s down, and it’s only us left—and you had such a good day that being alone in the same room with me, maybe it doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe I could make you laugh. Or we could talk like we used to. Just talk.”

Sam could feel himself starting to get upset again as he poured his heart out to the less than receptive angel. But he reeled it in. He didn’t think crying here on the plane would help his case. And he really didn’t need any extra attention from other passengers or flight staff. “If you wanted that, if you think that’s something we could try, then I can promise that you won’t regret it, Cas. I swear. But if not,” he gulped, “then that’s okay. I get it. I still want you and Dean to have a good time. I won’t fuck it up or cut in or anything.”

He reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out his music player with the headphone wires wrapped neatly around it. In a move he personally considered very risky, Sam grabbed Cas’s hand just long enough to place the device in it. “It’s fully charged,” he said quietly. “You can have it for as long as you want.”

Cas stared at the thing for a minute. More than the kindness of the offer, the act’s significance did not go unnoticed. Sam was giving him the option to avoid him for the rest of the flight. And the trip. And whenever he wanted, using a tool that _Sam_ owned. Obviously, the healer hoped he wouldn’t, but the opportunity was available. “You won’t care if I zone out?”

After a few tries, Sam worked his expression into a weak smile. “I said what I needed to. I wanted you to hear that I still care about you, Cas. That’s all. I’m not gonna try and force you to talk to me.” Despite temptation to do just that. “This trip is about enjoying ourselves. And, hey, I put a bunch of _Law & Order: Criminal Intent_ on there. In case you wanted to borrow it.”

“You don’t even like that show.”

“But _you_ do. And you always borrow my player. I mean, until recently.” He smoothed back his own hair with one hand. “Besides, I don’t _hate_ it. D’Onofrio’s pretty good.”

Cas’s fingers moved across the touch screen as he browsed the episodes. He blinked. “You got pretty much all my favorites…”

“Well, yeah.” It was a lot easier to grin now. Cas watched the show enough for Sam to know which seasons the angel loved, and which individual episodes bored him. “I would’ve put all of them on there, but there wasn’t enough room.”

He untangled the headphone chords and stuck one of the earbuds into his right ear. But as he selected a fave from season two, he left the right side—facing Sam—hanging free. He waited until a lull in the show before speaking. “Dean really wants us to work things out.”

“Yeah. I think it hurts him, to see us like this. You know, apart.” He couldn’t look at him directly. “But if we-uh—if we ever—” Sam sighed. How could he explain how utterly broken he felt, how devastated at the thought that they might never be together again?

He couldn’t.

Because if he did, then there was a chance it was real, and he refused to accept that. Especially now, with Cas finally talking to him. “It shouldn’t be because he wants us to, okay? It can’t. Dean wants us to be together because he loves us, and he thinks we’re happiest when all three of us are together. And he’s probably right. But it doesn’t matter. It has to be because you wanna be with me, Cas. Because you love me.”

“My feelings have never been in question, Sam.” More than a little spite returned to his tone.

He nodded sadly. “Cas, I can’t change what happened. I know I can’t. And I can’t force you to believe me when I say I love and care about you as much as I do Dean. Hell, I’m not even sure I can prove it. But I have to try. I don’t—I know I don’t deserve you, okay? But if you feel like you want to give me a chance, I—I wanna spend every second you’ll let me trying to make things right with you. Slowly, if we have to. Whatever it takes.”

Sam licked his lips before turning toward the angel.  When Cas paused the player and returned his gaze, he tried a different approach. “Look, I got a giant chunk of you inside me, too, right?” He brought his hand to his own heart. “I know it doesn’t _tug_ like with Dean. I have no idea why it’s that way. And I dunno if you can see it or feel it like with him. But I can. Well, I mean, I can definitely feel it. When we first met you, I didn’t get what Dean meant—that the energy _felt_ like you. But now I think I understand. It’s like I always have you with me.” He sniffed. “We’re connected, too, dude. We _are_.”

“I gave you that power because I knew you would use it for good. That’s all.”

Sam shook his head. “No, it goes deeper than that. You did it because you believed in me. You believed that I was the type of person who could handle a gift like that. And you wanted me—not Dean, but _me_ —to have it. Don’t you remember? I was worried about you, so I didn’t drink it right away. I hesitated, and you thought I wasn’t gonna do it. Your face—you were so hurt. You really thought I was rejecting it. And even though Dean could’ve easily had both, so it wouldn’t have gone to waste, you were so worried I wouldn’t go through with it.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, you were! You wanted to include me because you loved me, too. You said you did. Even back then. Over and over, you said it. You can’t pretend that didn’t happen. Whatever you think about me now—fine. I deserve it. But we were fucking great together, okay? Please, don’t try and invalidate what we had, before I screwed it all up. I get why you want to, but please don’t. It’s not like we never had any problems, but it was amazing. You _know_ it was. And God, I miss it. I miss you, Cas.”

He didn’t mean to get mad at him. If Sam could go the rest of forever without speaking to their angel in anger again, he would. Gladly. It made him feel sick to think that he could have ever been that full of rage at him, that determined to die. Every time he thought about that terrible afternoon, he wanted to crawl into some dark hole and just cry alone.

“You think we had it that good? It wasn’t anything like you and Dean.”

“I never wanted it to be!”

That was too loud for a plane conversation. He dialed it back down to just above a whisper.

“You’re not him. You’re you. But we still synched up so well. We still had and did everything we were supposed to in order to have a great relationship. And we did it just ‘cause we wanted to. No psychic force. No ‘sanctioned by God.’ Just you and me, in a healthy, completely voluntary romantic thing. Even you and Dean can’t say that, because of the wings and how it connects you two. But us? We’re the closest thing to a normal relationship that any of us can have. Or, at least, we were. And I like normal. I like that we had something awesome that we built together. And to be honest, I don’t wanna let that go—at all. I don’t wanna let you go.”

Sam turned away and dropped his stare to his own lap. Continuing, “I won’t interfere with you and Dean on this trip, and I won’t bother you if you don’t want me to. I promise you that. But don’t think that I won’t fight for you, Cas. Because I will. Maybe it can never be exactly like it was before, and maybe it’ll be years before you trust me again, but, man, I have to try. I don’t want to do the rest of my life without you. It’d be like only getting half of everything I ever wanted.”

Cas remained silent for a long time, but then his eyes widened. “That’s—that’s actually what Dean said. In his letter.” It was uncanny. The Winchesters did stuff like this constantly—finishing each other’s sentences, speaking at the same time, saying the identical things in exactly the same way—but Cas didn’t expect the healer to echo the personalized suicide note. He hadn’t shared the letter’s contents with him, and he had no intention of doing so. It wasn’t meant for him. But Sam used the same phrasing, regardless.

“Which part?”

“ _Half of everything_.”

“Oh.”

So, Dean—referred to Cas as that in his second letter? The fact that they used the same terminology didn’t faze Sam, but the revelation that Dean had chosen those words in his letter—that was interesting.

“It makes sense. I get what he meant. And I know why he did it. The sadness he felt at possibly losing you. Dude, that’s how I feel now. Before, I was pretending that we could just stay young together, that I could keep us safe and happy, and that would be how we’d make it. But I was fooling myself, Cas, and Dean didn’t buy it. So, he—he did something drastic to save you. Now, I don’t really think shooting myself will help us as a couple, but all I want to do with my life right now is find a way to fix us, and get back what we had.”

Cas tried to soak it all in. Sam’s pleas and desperate words didn’t fall on deaf ears. Both he and the healer prided themselves in being compassionate and caring, and the conversation demonstrated that quite clearly. It couldn’t dissolve his frustration, mistrust, and sadness completely—but Cas was no sociopath. It _did_ sway him a little. He may have been soulless, but he wasn’t heartless. “Dean doing what he did for me must’ve seemed like a betrayal to you. I mean, he left you to help me.”

“What?” The sudden concern for Sam’s feelings threw him off guard.

“Well, did you? Did you feel betrayed?”

“Maybe in that split second, because I didn’t really think about it. I just reacted. But after? No. God no. Not only did he do it because he loves you—he did it because _I_ love you. And neither of us can stand the idea of losing you. How could it be a betrayal if I was part of the reason behind it? Cas, I’m happy it happened. Because it worked. I just wish I wasn’t such an idiot along the way. Then we could be living it up instead of strained and broken.”

The angel slumped a little in his chair and gazed out the window. His fingers traced the edges of Sam’s music player, but he did not continue watching his show. “‘Cause I feel betrayed, Sam. You hurt me. You would have left me alone, with both of the people I care about dead. No future. No chance to see either of you again. And nevermind that Dean _was_ successful. What would he have come back to? All for nothing. You couldn’t even wait and see. Or hold onto the hope I thought for sure you had. It’s hard to forgive that. And the person I saw a few days ago—I didn’t recognize him.”

Not even a little. The Sam he loved wouldn’t hit him, wouldn’t leave him or duke it out with him. The Sam he loved was kind and compassionate. He was an eternal optimist, even in the toughest of situations. That was who Cas fell for. And the person he saw when Dean died? He was a complete stranger, devoid of any love for Cas. Devoid of anything of value at all.

“I know.” Sam made no attempt to hide the sorrow in his voice. Though he didn’t think he could’ve controlled himself or reigned in his grief with his soulmate dead, he hated that it happened. And he hated himself for it. “I betrayed you,” he agreed, After a pause, “But I swear, I’m still the person you loved. I swear I still care about you as much as I did before. And if you give me a chance, I’ll show you. Every single day. I mean it, Cas.”

He raised one hand, and with the backs of his knuckles, he lightly ran it across Sam’s cheek. The act was at once soothing and bittersweet. “What makes you think you can?” he asked without making eye contact.

“I don’t have any other choice. I need to try. And I—I think you still love me.”

Cas laughed dismissively. “I love a lot of things that are bad for me.” Copious amounts of sugar, his extended angel family, masochism applied indiscriminately to everything he did—to name a few.

“It’s still love.”

When Cas shrugged, Sam swiveled in his seat and bent over him a little. He mimicked the angel’s earlier caress, but he performed his more quickly, for fear of losing the ground this conversation afforded him. “Isn’t it?”

A long time passed before he answered. And when he did, it was in the form of a slow nod.

Sam retreated back into his seat. He smiled. “Then I have a shot.”


	33. With or Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

The healer made himself scarce for the first few days, allowing Dean and Cas to enjoy each other and the bright blue water, endless sunshine, and steady stream of colorful drinks almost without interruption. On the fourth day, though, he made a point to join them for breakfast. He was quiet. Meek. But overdressed in a neat and pressed blue shirt and dark jeans. It seemed obvious to Dean that his brother was trying to impress Cas or, at the very least, that the outfit was part of some romantic plan he had cooked up.

“You look—nice,” Dean pointed out, trying not to laugh. He grabbed a large bread roll, pulled it apart, and started slathering butter all along the inside. Maybe Cas would appreciate the effort, but he honestly thought there wasn’t much difference in attractiveness between Sam’s classed-up attire and something more comfortable. He was always impossibly attractive. It didn’t matter what he was wearing. And, of course, Dean preferred it most when his soulmate wasn’t wearing anything at all.

Without hesitating, Sam shot him a knowing glance to confirm Dean’s suspicions before turning his attention downward at a plate of food. He nodded. “Thanks.”

Cas looked over at him. His eyes lingered on the spot where Sam’s shirt met his collarbone. There, the anti-possession tattoo just barely peeked out under the fabric. Dean raised an eyebrow. Maybe Sam had more game than he thought. It certainly seemed like Cas enjoyed what he saw.

Like clockwork, Sam lifted his head just in time to make eye contact. He grinned and tucked some hair behind his ear. God, he did that constantly now. At one time, practically in a past life, Sam would just let it fall into his face, but the act of tucking it back, usually just on the left side, was a simple flirtation too effortless to pass up. And it worked on both of his lovers.

“Got any plans today?” he asked with a smile that could melt the polar ice caps, even at this distance. His expectant eyes betrayed an interest in spending the day with Cas, but his expression held no hint of it. It was simple curiosity mixed with a hint of confidence.

Cas sat back in his chair as he pondered the question, his arm dangling over the back. Dean got up abruptly. He swooped in to kiss the top of Cas’s head before heading back into their beachside suite to mix himself a drink. Since they were on vacation, his companions went easy on him when it came to things like early drinking and unhealthy food. “Nothing on the docket yet,” he called from the kitchen.

The angel picked up a slice of mango and popped it into his mouth. He waited until the fruit was completely ingested before finally responding. “Do you?”

Sam leaned forward a little. “I have a few ideas, if you’re interested,” he began very carefully. “Maybe just you and me?”

“For how long?” Cas returned unmercifully.

But Sam could be patient. They literally had all the time in the world. Time enough to make sure they got it right. “As long as you want. You know, as long as you’re having fun. We’re on vacation, right?”

Cas dropped his gaze to the spread of food items, searching for another morsel to sample. He chose a small slice of cured ham. “What ideas?”

He chuckled. It was contrived. Sam had to handle this as gently as possible, and the last thing he wanted was to pressure Cas, or for the angel to _feel_ pressured. “Well, I was hoping to make some of them a surprise, but, for starters, I rented a kayak for an hour or so this afternoon. Never done it before, but it sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Just one?”

“Seats two. But hey, if you want, I can have it changed to two single-seaters. I doubt they’re gonna mind. I just figured this was the safer bet in case you were busy.”

And actually getting to sit close to him for at least an hour was a major factor. Paddling through clear Caribbean waters together and enjoying the sun and scenery were all added bonuses. Sam was completely enamored with the idea, and though it was only one of about half a dozen stops he had lined up in a loose schedule, he hoped it would help make the day. Even if they took separate crafts, the healer still considered this part vital.

“Make it two boats, and I guess that would work.”

In the kitchen, Dean could hardly contain how proud he was. “Good goin’, Sammy,” he said under his breath, too quiet for the others to hear.

It wasn’t perfect. Sam vastly preferred the idea of sharing one kayak, but he would take what he could get. With a half-manufactured smile, he picked up the room phone and dialed a number off of the rental company’s business card.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the voice on the other end of the line after he was routed to the right person. “Reservations fill up fast. We don’t have any other boats available during that time. Do you need me to reschedule your rental?”

“No, uh, that’s okay. I’m sorry to hear that. Thanks.”

He hung up and paced nervously back over to the table. While this could work to his advantage, it could just as easily screw the whole thing up. Sam wasn’t optimistic about his chances. Clearing his throat, “Umm, they say they can’t change it.”

Cas furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to call the whole thing off, but Sam silenced him with a wave of his hand. “Look, Cas, like I said: no pressure. If you don’t wanna go, man, that’s fine. I’ll do it by myself. I could use the exercise, anyway, and it’s beautiful outside.” He patted him on his shoulder, mostly for effect. Inside, Sam felt like he could start sobbing any minute now.

The angel sat quietly for awhile, analyzing the situation. Then, “What else did you have planned?”

Sam sighed. He really wanted it to be a surprise. He’d spent the better part of the last three days setting it all up. But now, it probably wasn’t even going to happen. His heart sank. “Dinner.”

He snorted, turning to face him. “That it?”

Trying not to get upset, “Best place here. At sunset. I bribed the guy at the front to get a table.” With a view. Candles. Multiple courses. The works.

Cas made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. “Sounds— _romantic._ ”

Sam certainly thought it was. He slid into a chair and unfocused his eyes to avoid looking at him. “There are some not-so-touristy shops a way’s down the beach I thought you might wanna check out, too,” he continued. But by the look on Cas’s face, he wasn’t gaining any ground at all. He sighed again. Covering his mouth with his hands, he gave up. “But I-uh—forget it.”

“What is it?” the angel kept prodding.

“I think you would’ve really liked it.”

After all, he’d known him for years. He knew exactly what made him smile, just as he knew what upset him. Though Sam may not have been as practiced in romance as Cas was, he was observant, and even before their falling out, he often found himself wanting to do whatever the angel desired. So, he learned exactly what that was.

Quiet, intimate, beautiful. Natural when possible or surrounded by people displaying their goodness. Nice things, but not extravagant and excessive. Considerate and thoughtful. Fun.

And the day was all about that. Simple, sweet excursions around this part of the island. Most of it wasn’t even romantic unless Cas wanted it to be. Except for the dinner, which Sam knew would be absolutely perfect if he could just get him to go.

Cas took an especially long time wiping off his hands with a cotton napkin. “You think I would enjoy spending an entire day, just with you?”

Ouch.

Of course he did. They’d done it before, when Dean needed some time to himself or went to go visit Bobby. Before the damage to their relationship, the two would go to the market and drink coffee, grab dinner, and then enjoy the rest of their evening together in bed. They often did things that Dean had no interest in. They _needed_ each other for that.

Didn’t they?

He’d fucked everything up. The thought repeated in his head whenever he looked at Cas. It tortured him. They would have that perfect day together, no problem, if he hadn’t fucked everything up. But he was determined to right the wrong, to make everything good again. If there was a scrap of a chance that he could do it, he had to. And he was convinced that neither of them would be truly happy until he did.

“Yeah,” he said boldly. “You know, kinda like we used to.” After a pause, in which he could hear his own heart beating loudly in his ears, “But I’m not asking for the whole day if you don’t want it. Any time I could spend with you, Cas, would be great. I miss you. And if you wanted to cut it short, well, that’s your call. I’m not gonna try to stop you. I’ve said as much before. This is on your terms. Everything is. I just wanna show you that I care about you, and treat you to a good time. Because I think you deserve it, after all the shit I put you through. That’s it.”

Cas looked around the room, unsure of himself. He didn’t really think Sam had earned his undivided attention, to be honest. And he didn’t particularly want to give it. But at the same time, he did miss those days together. He hated that it’d been taken away, that they were like this now.

Split apart. Separated.

And maybe it _would_ be fun. The day, as advertised, consisted of the sorts of things he would enjoy. He could window shop for hours. He loved the outdoors. And fancy dinners were a guilty pleasure. If Cas could stand to do them with Sam, maybe it would work.

“Is the kayaking first?” he asked finally.

Sam shook his head subtly and tried not to get his hopes up. “That’s not for an hour or so yet. But there’s, umm, there’s a great candy store about two blocks away I thought maybe we could check out first. And a café right across the street from there.”

Despite becoming more and more like a human with each passing year, Cas still had an angelic affinity for sugar. He loved the stuff as much as a kid on Halloween. And Sam thought it might improve his mood a bit, or just make him happier overall. Follow it with some caffeine? Maybe Cas would actually be excited to spend the day with him.

As though on cue, Cas’s eyes lit up. Sam was right. He really would like that, regardless of the discomfort of having to do it with the younger man. It took a few seconds, but his lips eventually worked themselves into a faint smile. He nodded. “Okay. I think that’d be okay, Sam.”

Dean practically jumped for joy. Fuck yes, his brother was actually pulling this off. He was mending what had been broken. And maybe after some time, things could get back to normal.

Standing up, Sam wanted to offer his hand to the angel, but he didn’t want to press his luck. Instead, he simply motioned with his head toward the door. “Ready to go?” he asked tentatively. When Cas nodded, rose to his feet, and joined him, Sam couldn’t have been happier. Even if the day got cut short prematurely, he told himself that he would still be so very thankful for the time with him.

And the chance to show Cas that he still cared.

***

Things started off slow, but without incident. The two made their way up beautiful, scenic streets to a little shop adorned with bins full of penny candy and other sweets. It was clearly meant to attract families with children, and the bored elderly man sitting out front hardly even noticed them as they approached. But when they stopped and Sam pointed, with a grin, at a display of colorful, crystal-like rock candy, the man looked up at them over the morning’s newspaper. “Can I help ya two with somethin’?”

Sam glanced over at Cas, who was busy eying the sugar with the sort of interest one might give to making a liquor selection, as though even color might affect his enjoyment level. But Sam didn’t mind. If Cas wanted to let him stand nearby, he had an endless supply of patience.

And he was sweet and unique this way. So serious about a basic choice and completely focused on it. Not like an addict or even with noticeable hunger. Just someone who really wanted to do it right.

Back home, before everything went to hell, they would just go to the market or a grocery store when Cas was having a craving or got low on his emergency stash. And they’d buy the usual staples—pre-packaged chocolate, little hard candies made from scratch by a local woman, handmade peppermints, etc.—without spending too much time on it. Sam never really got a chance to see Cas when faced with a new assortment of options. And he never got to see him willing to truly indulge.

He was glad he did. It felt like falling for Cas all over again, or at least adding a new facet to what was already there.

“His choice,” Sam said simply, unable to take his eyes off of the angel.

The man got up and stretched. “Hmm.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were more than friends, or hoped to be, but the vendor picked up on it right away. Reaching into a cooler, he selected two strawberries, pre-dipped in a swirl of dark and white chocolate, and placed them in a see-through box. “You might like these.”

They looked delicious. And since there were two, it wouldn’t really have to be anything romantic, right?

Cas weighed the pros and cons to be sure, but in the end, he nodded. “Some of these, too,” he tapped the display, just below the bright green rock candy. As the merchant filled up a wax-coated bag with the sugar and passed it to him, Sam produced a small stack of East Caribbean banknotes and handed them over. Cas was already munching on the crystallized sugar as they left the day’s first stop.

A few minutes later, the two sat down at an outdoor café, coffee in hand. Cas seemed to be in much better spirits. But Sam silently told himself not to press his luck too much, and watch what he said so as not to sour things. He looked off down the road at the rows of shops and island mansions.

“Can you imagine living in a place like this, all year-round?” he asked eventually, with as little urgency as possible.

“It’s really beautiful,” Cas agreed, opening the package around their chocolate strawberries, “but I like Philadelphia.” He picked up one of the treats, and, after a moment to decide the best approach, took a small bite. The fruit was perfectly ripe, and the candy part was just the right amount of sweet. He wiped at his mouth to hide any mess as Sam watched with adoration.

“Yeah, me too.” Wading past an expanse of foam, his lips eventually found coffee, and he took a sip. “This place is good to visit, but Philly feels like home.”

There was a long silence. Sam cringed a little as he realized that it was an awkward one. Where they had once felt so comfortable with each other, now they acted like strangers. He was determined to remedy that. When Cas nodded absently and finished his sugary treat, Sam kept talking. “Me and Dean, we never really had that before, you know. I mean, not really. Just the car and some motels—and maybe a little bit with Bobby’s. But nothing like what we have with the house. It’s pretty incredible.”

The angel smiled weakly, but didn’t look at him. “Is it just having the place? Somewhere to call home? Or, uh—how much of it has to do with me being there?”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought for sure Cas, as he was right now, wouldn’t care about the answer to a question like that. Trying to maintain composure, Sam sat up in his chair. “Living in a real house certainly helps, but if you weren’t there, it wouldn’t be home at all. I can’t imagine how it could. Hell,” he laughed, “it’s probably got nothing to do with the city, honestly. It’s just the place where we settled down together, where the three of us built a home. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Philly. Love it. But I could probably feel at home in a lot of places, so long as I was—” He stopped himself. Covering his mouth, he dropped his stare to the coffee.

“So long as you were what?”

Gulping, “With you and Dean.”

“Sam…”

He closed his eyes and scolded himself. “Forget it, I—I’m sorry. I know. Just forget it.”

“No.” He shook his head. When Sam finally looked at him, he was met with Cas’s gaze. “It’s kinda sweet.” Maybe more than kinda.

Sam blinked. “What?”

“You think of me as home. At least partially.” He sat back and rubbed at his knuckles repetitively. He seemed anxious, but openly so, and it was the most relaxed Sam had seen him since before Dean shot himself. “Not just that you love me, but you _need_ me. You equate me with shelter. A basic human need.”

The healer nodded slowly. It took him a few tries before he could respond. And when he did, he had to clutch his drink with both hands to keep them from shaking. “It’s true. It’s been true, Cas. I can’t live without you.”

“You don’t _want_ to.”

He had to force himself to try and stay calm. “I don’t want to, and I can’t. I don’t really know how I did it before, without you, but I can’t now. Even the last three days.” He sighed. “I thought about you pretty much the whole time. And I can’t stop thinking about how I hurt you and fucked it all up. I do need you, Cas. I feel like you make me a better person. Dean, he—he sees only good in me, at least most of the time. You know I’m not, but you—you loved me, anyway. Right? I needed that, and I still do.”

Shaking his head, Cas pushed his chair away from the table. “You’re wrong. I thought the world of you.”

Past tense.

What little composure Sam was clinging onto seconds earlier slipped completely from his grasp. He broke down. His shoulders began to tremble. “Why?”

“There’s a reason Dean worships you. And it’s not just the bond. You’re a good person, Sam.”

“Just not under pressure.”

Cas shrugged. “Neither of us can change what happened. It damaged us. We’re different. And we might never be the same again.” He stood and took a few steps toward him. “But maybe you’re not a lost cause. And I’m not blind. I see you trying, so hard, to get me back. And I haven’t forgotten what we built together or how we were. It still hurts, Sam. You hurt me. But I don’t think I’m ready to let you go, either.”

The healer let out a breath. With his mouth still hanging open, he had to speak past a lump in his throat. There was only one thing he could think of in response. “Thank you.”

Leaning down, Cas kissed his forehead. He decided to take a page from Dean’s playbook: “We’re gonna be late. And I think there’s probably a no crying policy on the kayaks. So, come on.” He didn’t think he could take anymore sadness and emotional back and forth. At least not in that moment. All Cas wanted was to try and enjoy the weather and this place, and maybe do so with Sam in tow.

Sniffing, the younger Winchester tried to pull himself together as they started toward the ocean.


	34. Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

They put their emotions on hold in favor of sunshine, clear blue water, and a small plastic boat. The afternoon activity went off without a hitch. The two climbed in and eventually managed to get in motion. Bobbing about in the water, trying to row in unison—laughing when they couldn’t sync up properly at first. They stopped only to reapply sun-tan lotion—woefully accomplished independently—and to return when their rental time was up.

After, they wandered the streets for a few hours, window shopping and generally just trying to be in each other’s company and get used to it again. Sam gave Cas plenty of room. But the angel didn’t stray too far from his side, either. In fact, the more they walked, the closer he seemed to get. When they halted in front of a jewelry store, Cas reached for a necklace made of shells and laughed melodically. “Can you picture Dean wearing these?” He laughed again.

“I don’t think he’d go for that.”

“Yeah, but it’d be cute. Just a bunch of these shells and—” Blushing, Cas let the necklaces go. “—not much else.”

“Get some. You never know, maybe if we get him excited or drunk enough, he’ll do it. And if not, you know, I could always wear them if you wanted me to.”

That was always their way. If Cas wished for something, and Dean wasn’t up to it, or didn’t feel comfortable, Sam usually picked up the slack. Not out of obligation, but because he wanted to. He wanted to give Cas whatever he desired, and he relished in watching how happy it made him. Sam longed for that again.

Cas turned so Sam couldn’t see his face. But the healer caught a glimpse. The thought did not produce any negative feelings. Quite the contrary, it aroused him. He didn’t want Sam to know, didn’t want to give him the idea that he was already warming up to him again. Forgiving him. Liking being around him. But it was no less accurate, wasn’t it?

Entangling his fingers in three of the necklaces, Sam pulled them down off the rack. He ran his thumb over the polished shells and moved so Cas could see them. “What about these?”

The angel stared up at him for a long time as Sam’s heart started to beat faster. Eventually, he nodded. “Okay.”

With a smile, Sam paid for the items and gave them to Cas. “Hungry? I think our reservation is soon.” He didn’t have to check his watch. Though he did it often enough. The sun was starting to dip close to the ocean—exactly the time he wanted Cas to enjoy dinner with him.

“Sure.” He was more than happy to move on to a safer subject.

It didn’t take long to find the picturesque little restaurant on the beach. Most of it was open-air, though there was a thatch roof covering their section. They were seated at a round table with a perfect view of the ocean and the setting sun. The sky was already beginning to turn pink and orange, and a cool breeze came in off the water. Cas’s eyes were round as he looked at the scene, and he was speechless.

But it didn’t end there. Light music played somewhere in the distance, and the whole place was adorned with glass bowls filled with lit candles. Covering the tables and lining the ceiling were purple bougainvillea flowers, native to Grenada and much of South America. They were beautiful.

All of it was beautiful.

And perfect. Sam could hardly focus on the menu. He couldn’t stop glancing over at Cas, who seemed completely enchanted by their surroundings. It’d been more than a week—which felt like months—since anything Sam did made him this happy. And he looked absolutely incredible in the soft light, framed by the ocean and colorful sunset.

“You keep staring at me,” Cas noted with a slight grin on his face.

Sam forced his attention back to the food choices. “Sorry.” After a pause to build up some courage, “It’s just—you look, oh man. Just wow.”

Blushing again, Cas shifted his weight as the server approached, bringing wine. They ordered. Four courses. An appetizer of local seafood options to share, small salads with sweet dressing, extravagant entrées—pork for Sam, duck for Cas—and dessert, a tasting of the different local sweets that the restaurant had to offer. It wasn’t until after the waiter left that the angel finally responded. “It’s this place.”

“No. I’m pretty sure it’s you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Leaning forward, “It’s true! Look, I brought you here because I think you deserve literally every good thing I can give you, Cas. Delicious food and a beautiful place at the end of a great day. I wanna make you happy again. And you are—” he hesitated, trying to find the best way to say it, “—you are painfully, breathtakingly gorgeous when you’re happy.”

“Well, you’ve succeeded,” he replied quietly, looking out over the water. “I’ve had a really good time, Sam.”

The man took a gulp of his wine, though he knew it wouldn’t calm his nerves or do anything at all. “Surprised?”

He smiled. “A little.”

Sam reached over and touched Cas’s chin lightly. It was a risk, but he couldn’t help himself. After a whole day together, all he wanted to do was connect with him. Be as close as possible. He held back enough to avoid upsetting the angel, but he simply could not go any longer without touching him. Cas didn’t pull away. He tilted his head a little until his cheek rested in Sam’s palm.

He was warm and soft, and it took everything the healer had not to escalate things considerably.

“I love you,” Sam said barely above a whisper. Not because he didn’t want to scream it, but because he was too nervous to try. “If I have to spend years giving you days like this to prove it, I will. I’d be thrilled at having the opportunity. You deserve it, and I really like spending time with you. But I do love you, Cas. I love you so much.”

Cas laid his own hand on Sam’s and pressed it into his cheek. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I—I guess I’ve always known. I just—I know it’s not the same with Dean , and it never will be. And what you did, what you wanted to do, makes it really hard for me to trust you again.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it’s destroying me that I did that to us.” But he’d said that before. It would take something else to get through to him. Clearing his throat, “And I didn’t even want it. It’d be one thing if I actually believed in what I did or felt like I actually had to, but I don’t. I would’ve hated myself forever if I left you behind, or worse,” he lowered his voice, “killed you while trying. Dean never would’ve forgiven me, and I never would have, either. I don’t know how to live or keep going without you, Cas. I really don’t. And maybe I didn’t get it at the time, but that part, at least, is exactly like how I feel about Dean.”

Except it wasn’t! Why couldn’t he see it? Wasn’t it the obvious? “You wouldn’t fight your way through him to off yourself if you lost me,” Cas insisted.

“No, I wouldn’t. But I don’t think I’d ever do that again, to anyone. And maybe it’s also because what we have—what we _had_ —it was actually something healthy. Not codependent or psychic. Something that we built just out of communication and, yes, trust, and regular love. It may not have been as flashy, but it was healthy.” He noticed with disinterest that both their appetizer and salads had been delivered, yet untouched. “And maybe I wouldn’t do that, but I don’t think I would want to keep going without you. To me, it still feels the same. You feel the same to me. And I value you just as much as I do him.”

Cas’s icy stare melted in front of Sam. He pried the healer’s hand off of his face and kissed the top of it. Moments later, still holding onto his hand, Cas leaned forward and planted another kiss, soft but firm, on Sam’s lips. And he stayed there for a few wonderful seconds before leaving again and turning his attention to the food. But when he spoke, it had nothing to do with the quality of the offering.

“Despite my best interest, I believe you.”

Sam let out a sigh of relief. He dug into his salad for the first time as Cas sampled the little bites of fish and shrimp.

“Oh my God,” Cas’s eyes got big again. “Jesus, Sam, this is delicious.”

He beamed. “Like I said, I had to bribe the guy to get a table here! This is the best place in the area.” Sam studied the angel with a look of complete admiration on his face. “But you deserve it. And I’m gonna be better, because you deserve that, too.”

Cas gave a single nod. “I think maybe I can work with that.”

***

The rest of the vacation was very much about mending their relationship. It took a few days and a change in location—Brazil this time—but eventually the trio began sharing a single bed again. Just to sleep. But it was something so incredibly important to Sam. As they hop-scotched down South America, Cas and the healer grew closer and closer. The angel, of course, still had reservations, and it would be months, if not years, before he truly felt comfortable around Sam again, but so much was accomplished in the sunshine and beautiful climates through which they traversed.

The progress surprised all three of them.

Dean helped. If he could include both of them in an adventure or activity, he tried. If he thought they needed time alone, he gave them that, too. There would be other vacations for himself, and anyway, seeing them patch things up was reward enough. It happened a lot quicker than he imagined it would, and he couldn’t be more pleased at seeing it.

Argentina was the last stop. By then, Sam and Cas were not only reacquainting themselves emotionally, but were slowly getting used to intimacy again. They were making out on the bed when Dean decided to give them some peace. Besides, he wanted to check out the Cueva de las Manos, a cave full of ancient drawings and hand prints.

But even with the brief trip, he returned too soon. He couldn’t hear anything outside the door, but once he opened it, the sound of Cas moaning loudly filled his ears. He put the side of his index finger into his mouth and bit down to avoid laughing. Not from the noise itself, which he was well-accustomed to and quite enjoyed hearing, but for sheer joy at knowing Sam was causing it.

He needed them to get back together. It was partially his fault, what happened. And he wouldn’t feel great until everything was back on track to normal.

By the looks of it, they were well on their way to doing just that. They must’ve taken it slow, Dean surmised. He was gone for more than two hours. But all the pillows and some of the sheets ended up on the floor, and both men were covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Cas was on his back, eyes closed and mouth open. He probably didn’t even know Dean was there. And his soulmate? He was busy between the angel’s legs.

Dean couldn’t help but grin as he quietly poured himself a drink.

Cas was close. By the slow, methodical way Sam was going about it, he’d already had his own release and knew it would all be over when the angel climaxed—so he wanted to take his time. But even then, it wouldn’t be long now. Cas was in ecstasy. He gripped at the mattress in an attempt to prolong the experience. They really were enjoying themselves.

All at once, Cas’s back arched off the bed, and his fingers found their way to Sam’s head. He took up a fistful of the healer’s hair and twisted it. “Don’t you dare stop,” he breathed.

Sam adjusted his position to get better leverage and pushed his mouth forward. He moved faster, and, along with, Cas’s moans increased in frequency and volume. A few well-placed strokes with the man’s tongue, and the angel couldn’t hold out any longer. In a chain reaction that encompassed every cell in his body, Cas’s nerves ignited with passion, and he came. His whole body relaxed moments later. Sam sat up on the bed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. It took him a few tries to swallow properly without gagging—a problem that persisted despite years of practice. But after, he simply smiled and crawled on top of Cas to kiss him.

The angel raised one hand sleepily to wave at their other companion. “Hello, Dean.”

While Sam’d heard him come in, he hadn’t addressed it for fear Cas might get cold feet. But it didn’t matter, because Cas already knew. It was difficult not to notice his own wings returning to the room, even though he didn’t actively try to see them.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You two seem to be getting along pretty well.”

Sam agreed, but he said nothing, opting instead to nibble on Cas’s chest. He wasn’t going to make that call, even if it was an accurate observation. It was Cas who responded for both of them. “Yeah, mostly,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. Seemingly worn out, he declined to elaborate and instead gave a thumbs up.

***

The long flight back did a number on the older Winchester. Sam couldn’t keep him sedated the entire time, and their multiple encounters with planes over the last two months did nothing to make him less terrified. Distraught, embarrassed, and on-edge, he needed coaxing through the airport at their layover.

By the time they got to Philly, he was exhausted. Both of the others kept their entire focus on him, and he relied heavily on their guidance as they got to the front door. No one stopped to check for signs that they weren’t alone.

An error once unthinkable, especially to the former hunters.

But thankfully, the trespasser in their quiet abode was reasonably friendly. Seated on Sam’s desk was Rosa, the stubborn witch that had become a semi-regular part of their lives throughout the turbulent summer. She seemed bored, and by the snack wrappers piled next to her leg, she’d been there awhile, waiting for their return. When the trio finally came into view, she smiled. “About time.”

Dean felt immediately angry at the intrusion. But even through his haze of sedation and travel fatigue, he remembered a very important fact that stopped him from saying anything stupid. He was supposed to treat her well and look out for her, as a favor to Gabriel. In exchange for Cas’s ticket into Heaven. As he was pondering his next move, Sam addressed her for them. “Rosa? What are you doing here?”

“What, no love for your long lost roommate?” She laughed. When they still didn’t seem amused, she rolled her eyes. “I have come bearing a gift. For Castiel.”

“Gift?” The angel looked at her with suspicion.

She reached into the pocket of some camouflage-patterned cargo pants she was wearing. Producing a small package made from a handkerchief tied with a shoelace, she pulled on the string until it opened. From inside, she produced a familiar straight razor and held it up for Cas to see. It was covered in blood.

“It’s done,” she proclaimed proudly. “I took care of your problem.”


	35. Hero of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read it on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

“What?” was all Cas managed. He couldn’t believe it.

“Holy shit! You got that son of a bitch?! No way!” Dean found himself suddenly alert. “You _killed_ Crowley all by yourself? Not just sent his ass back to Hell, but actually ganked him?”

Rosa jumped off the desk and clasped her hands together. “Absolutely. Got a few of his pals along the way, too. And, uh—” She winked at Cas. “—I took my time.”

“That’s—wow,” was Sam’s contribution.

But Cas didn’t immediately react. He just stared at the blade as his face got pale. After a moment, he gripped at Sam’s sleeve. Subtly, so as not to alert the others. But it was still obvious. Eventually, he forced himself to speak. “You tortured him?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course I did. He kidnapped you. Put his fucking hands on you.” She made no attempt to hide what she knew, that Crowley had done more than just hold Cas captive. He’d even kissed the poor angel. While the Winchesters might not know the specifics, they understood now that Cas hadn’t gotten out of it completely unscathed.

“I thought you said he didn’t touch you,” Dean whispered, half as an accusation and half in concern.

His mouth moved before he could get words out. Then, “He didn’t hurt me. I don’t think he could even handle the idea.”

In the back of his head, he remembered Crowley’s words as clear as day. When asked if he would risk his own life to get Cas back, “ _For you, I would. And I’d keep trying until I had you again or one of your friends got lucky enough to kill me. I’d risk everything I have._ ”

Maybe he did.

Rosa scoffed. “He tried to kill your partners, Castiel. You know, Dean and Sam? He took you from them to boot. And don’t forget the more than eighty hunters and clergy his army killed to get at you. If you’re starting to get sentimental, cut it the fuck out. He wasn’t some misguided suitor. He was a monster. He was the fucking King of Hell. And now he’s dead. I killed him, and I’d kill him again.”

“Hey!” Dean pointed at her angrily. “Calm down.”

Cas had no idea what he was supposed to feel. Killing Crowley was probably the only way to make sure the guy wouldn’t come after them again. And he certainly didn’t want to see anyone else hurt because of him and the demon’s obsession with him. Especially not the two people he loved. But at the same time, it really did seem like Crowley had feelings for him. Genuine ones. And maybe Cas had a few, too. Nothing substantial, and certainly nothing worth risking what he had with the humans, but he didn’t hate him. He probably should have, but he didn’t.

And the thought that Crowley had been tortured to death made him feel sick. Sam sensed it immediately and directed Cas over to one of the benches. “It’s okay, Cas,” he said softly. Whatever happened on that island, and whatever Cas thought about Crowley’s death, Sam was determined to come off as understanding, as much as possible. And to be there for him in any way he could. He owed him that, and he didn’t care if that put him at odds with Dean and/or Rosa.

But it didn’t. Not for Dean, at least. He loved Cas, and he knew, better than Sam did, that the angel had mixed feelings toward the King of Hell. He accepted the fact because he knew it would never trump what he thought about and felt for the Winchesters. Maybe Cas was okay with Crowley getting taken out, but Dean got why a slow death might bother their angel.

Rosa, on the other hand, didn’t understand why her efforts were not being treated with praise and admiration. She’d solved the problem, made everything a thousand times better for the three of them. Why weren’t they ready to throw a party? Why weren’t they thanking her? “Don’t tell me you’re actually upset. Do you know how much work I had to put into this? I could easily have gotten myself killed!”

“We didn’t ask you to do this!” Cas shouted back. Sam moved so the angel wouldn’t be able to see Rosa, in an attempt to ease the tension.

She practically growled in return. “You didn’t fucking try to stop me, either!”

“What’d I say? Calm down, all right? And lay off Cas.” Dean put himself between his lovers and the witch.

Snorting, she dropped the razor on Sam’s desk, spun around, and headed for the door. “Fine.”

“Hold up, Rosa,” Dean called after her. “Look, we’re really grateful for what you did. But we’re tired from the trip, and we weren’t exactly prepared for this kind of news.”

“Whatever. I’ll be out of your hair now.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “No, wait. You can’t leave.”

“What?” he heard from all three of the others.

“I-uh, I promised I’d look out for you. I can’t do that if you run off again. So, come back, sit down, have a beer or something—but stay, at least for a little while, okay?” Dean gulped. He could feel Sam and Cas’s eyes staring at him questioningly. He hadn’t explained this at all to them. Not because he wanted to keep it a secret, but because it was a low priority. He cared a whole lot more about whether their relationship survived than he did about safeguarding a woman who didn’t want his help.

And, honestly, he’d forgotten about this part of the bargain.

“You didn’t promise me anything,” she retorted. “We’re done.”

“No. I promised someone else. Umm, your father.”

She glared at him. “The deadbeat who knocked up my mother and flew the coop? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Ever wonder where you got that moving-stuff-around thing from? Well, I—got an explanation for that while you were gone. Spoke to the guy who’s the reason you have it. It’s genetic.” Dean’s voice was calm by design, but he felt like puking. “It actually wasn’t supposed to be about you at all. The conversation.” He looked back at Cas with a sympathetic expression. “It was about getting us all in the same place after we croak. But anyway, in order to get Cas upstairs, I had to promise I’d look out for your general wellbeing.”

“Why the fuck would you have to—”

“I had to promise _the archangel Gabriel_ ,” Dean cut her off on purpose. He turned to his companions. Apologetic, “I didn’t mention it because I was worried, you know, about everything, and then it kinda just slipped my mind.” Turning back, “Your daddy’s basically the head honcho of Heaven, which makes your ass part angel.”

Cas and Rosa had similar facial expressions. Shock, mostly. Mixed with a little fear. “That’s impossible,” could’ve come from either one, but it was Cas who spoke first.

Rosa took it a step further. “You’re lying.”

“Afraid not. Though that probably would’ve been my reaction, too, if the info hadn’t come straight from the source. I guess since angels are basically concentrated creation machines, it doesn’t really matter that your mom was a plain old human.” He walked over to Cas and touched his shoulder. “I don’t know if any angel can do that, but for one that powerful, maybe the rules are different.”

The thought of their own angel fathering a child entered his mind, albeit for only a fleeting instant. Dean loved children. They were wonderful. Not yet messed up by the world. There was something awesome about that. And Cas’s intended career path as a social worker—along with him once being a good uncle to his human sister’s kids—showed that he at least wanted to be a role model. The thought of Sam helping, too, gave him a warm, comforting feeling he would never admit openly. But he really liked the idea.

And he knew it would never happen, for at least half a dozen reasons, not the least of which being that there was no one to impregnate. But he couldn’t help but entertain the idea. A human-angel hybrid child would be the closest they could get to making a person similar to themselves. And as far as temperament goes, Dean was sure a kid raised in a loving family would have a better shot than Rosa did, and would likely result in a nicer, compassionate adult.

Yet, there were so many reasons not to pursue it. Even if they could find a woman willing to be inseminated by an angel—and whatever danger would result from that—could the three of them really raise a child? Would they want to? And should they, considering the _unique_ familial history between Dean and Sam?

No. If they actually wanted kids, and he wasn’t certain his companions would be as thrilled by the idea as he was, they could adopt, or one of the humans could be the donor. No reason to risk the health of some unfortunate woman just so they could have a little more in common with the child. And anyway, he highly doubted they would want to deal with whatever abilities the potential baby ended up having.

They had enough on their plates already.

When no one else seemed to know what to say, Dean kept talking. “If it’s any consolation, one of the reasons he’s a deadbeat is because he’s not in this freakin’ dimension. Guy can’t really leave Heaven.”

It wasn’t. She’d grown up essentially an orphan. On her own. Lost, to an extent, and hardened by this world. While her grandmother did her best, Rosa didn’t make it easy. It would’ve helped substantially to have a dad, even if he just came around now and then to check in on her or, hell, tell her what she was and where she came from.

It also would’ve been great to have a mother. But Rosa’s died—from complications with the pregnancy. Oh God, from being pregnant with a creature? Could what Rosa was—part angel—could that have killed her mother?

Fuck, of course it was.

Rosa didn’t look like herself. She seemed vulnerable. Like her whole world had been turned upside down. Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Eventually, she looked at Dean, and he couldn’t help but think that this woman was still practically a child, herself. “Do I have—wings?”

Dean swiveled to make eye contact with Cas, who nodded slowly. He hadn’t tried to look at her before, since she was human, as far as he knew. And he didn’t like using the angel sight because it reminded him of how different he still was. But now that he did, they were as clear as day. Not bright, like an archangel, but unlike Cas—and then Dean—she had six of them. They were thin, perhaps too thin to fly, but nonetheless impressive in size and attached to her soul just like the older Winchester. “Yeah,” he said with no pretense. “I didn’t see it before, but you have them.”

“Oh.”

“You can’t feel them?” Even Dean could, and they didn’t belong in his body. When she shook her head, Cas rose to his feet and strode up to her. “I wish you had just killed Crowley quickly,” he said in a low voice. “He wasn’t as bad as—fuck, it doesn’t matter. Thank you for protecting us.” Channeling the small amount of power he still possessed, Cas brought his hand up to the space above her left shoulder and _touched_ one of her wings. A smaller one, just in case the power was too strong for him to handle.

“What the fuck?!” she jumped back. “What the hell did you just do?”

Cas smiled. “Did you feel that?”

“Fuck yes, I did!” It felt like being shocked at low voltage, and the sensation radiated through her skin, deep down inside, and then back out across the air behind her. It was like she suddenly had extra arms, and they were huge but nearly weightless.

“Hold on to that feeling and see if you can’t move the spot.”

She stared at him with skepticism, but eventually closed her eyes.

And was gone.

“Guess they work,” Sam said what they were all thinking. But Cas was more concerned. Sure, he didn’t particularly like Rosa, but flying without knowing what you were doing was incredibly dangerous. He’d hoped she could just flex the wings a little. Not suddenly take off with no destination in mind. Even Dean didn’t do that. He always pictured the target first.

But in the next moment, she was back. The landing left much to be desired. She didn’t quite appear with her feet on the floor, but rather about three inches above it. When she realized this fact in the split second before gravity kicked in, she panicked, and flailed her way to the ground. But she was back, and in one piece. And they were all happy to see that she’d survived her first self-guided angelic flight.

The woman remained on the floor, but she was smiling wickedly. “You’re telling me I had this the whole time?!” When Castiel gave a nod, she laughed. “And healing?”

But Cas shook his head at that. “Doesn’t look like it. Your ability to move objects is stronger than mine when I was a full angel, but it doesn’t seem like you got any healing power. Now that I think about it, other than its usefulness, this might even be why you wanted it so much. Maybe, on some level, you feel like you’re supposed to have it. Because angels are supposed to have it.”

“Damn.” She really wanted that one.

His assessment, therefore, could very well be accurate. She _did_ crave those abilities. The ones the Winchesters openly used. Now, perhaps they knew why. Where a normal angel would’ve gotten the full package, Rosa was born with only some, and she felt incomplete because of it.

Sighing, “Guess that’s why the holy fire didn’t work on me, either.”

“But you can fly, right? You just, blipped out of here, and ended up somewhere else?” Dean couldn’t fight off his curiosity. It was a solid thing the two of them now had in common. “Where’d you go?”

“Central Africa, I think.” She slowly got up from the floor and brushed herself off. “But I didn’t—I saw the whole thing. It was really fast, but I still saw it. I—went through walls. Even a mountain. I could steer. I could move. And I saw everything.”

Dean couldn’t do that. He didn’t have an angel’s eyes. But apparently Rosa did, at least partially. “You can probably see more than that. Can you, uh, see your own wings? Or mine?”

Narrowing her eyes, Rosa stared at Dean for a long time before scoffing. A quick glance in a nearby wall mirror solidified what she already feared. With as much frustration as possible in her voice, “No. No, I can’t.”

“What about other things? Angels can see a lot of stuff we can’t,” Sam piped up.

She made a clicking sound with her tongue. Well, there was one thing. “Like demons? How they really look?”

Cas tilted his head to one side. “You can see that?”

Oh, yes. She’d done a spell on herself when she was barely a teenager and had been able to see them ever since. But the magic was only meant to be temporary, and she wasn’t even sure she’d said the words right. “Yup. I’ve been able to, for a long time. Helps me get the drop on them because they don’t think I can see it. I thought it was because of some spell casting, but I—I guess not.” Then, in a quieter voice, “How could you stand being around Crowley if you can see it, too? They’re horrible.”

“Just because I can do something, doesn’t mean I want to,” he responded right away. “There’s a lot of value to humans, Rosa, and the way they live. I like it. I try to emulate it whenever possible. The sight, it’s useful, but I turn it off, because I just—I like seeing the world the way humans do. The way Dean and Sam do.” He glanced over at them for a brief moment and caught a crooked smile from Dean. “I think you would prefer the opposite, to be as much like an angel as you can, but trust me, you don’t want that. It may be helpful, but it won’t bring you happiness. Angels aren’t supposed to be happy. They’re not supposed to feel anything. Humans get to.”

As far as he was concerned, Rosa had a choice to make. She would always be somewhere in the middle, between an angel and a human, but her values would determine what she did with the abilities she wielded. And he thought it best to explain what was at stake.

“But they do anyway,” she countered.

He nodded. “Especially when we get close to humans.”

She let out a big sigh as Sam kissed the side of Cas’s head. It was beautiful, what he was saying. They’d never heard him describe it like this before. Both Sam and Dean knew their angel valued being like humans. Why else would he labor to act exactly like one? But to hear him describe it—to know that he didn’t even want to see the world more completely because it would set him apart—it was astounding.

Dean was not immune to the power of the statement, either. He came up to the two and ran one hand over Cas’s chest. “Specific humans, or just in general?” He was fishing.

“Some are better than others.” Cas kissed him passionately to emphasize his point.

Rosa cleared her throat. “Can you teach me how to use this shit? Or am I on my own?”

Cas grinned. “I can try.”

She straightened her back and looked around room. Eventually, she shrugged. “I’ll put my stuff upstairs.”

***

“Couldn’t help but notice, you and Cas—it looks like you two are doing better,” Dean dropped down on the couch by his side and handed him a beer. Though there was zero chance Sam would feel the beverage’s intended effects, it was still a gesture the younger man appreciated.

This was one of the first quiet moments with his soulmate that Dean could secure since they got back. The vacation had rejuvenated the three, and if he wasn’t taking a roll in the hay with either or both of his partners, they were enjoying each other. Or Sam was healing. But an evening after a long day of work provided the perfect opportunity. His brother was too worn out to attempt more than a lethargic kissing session in front of the TV, and Cas was busy tutoring Rosa on the finer points of Enochian.

Despite her lingering stubbornness, the witch—and half angel—turned out to be a rather attentive student on this particular subject. And, whenever Cas wasn’t busy with Sam and Dean or preparing for his next semester, he sat down with her and attempted to explain thousands of years of seraphim history, an array of possible abilities she might possess, and, yes, the human-friendly angel language.

Since Rosa couldn’t speak with or hear an angel’s true voice, as it seemed to hurt her like with most normal humans, Cas wanted to at least teach her the words angels often used with each other when they were in vessels. That way, she could hope to communicate with some of her extended family, should either party ever have the inclination, in a way that the full angels might appreciate. It also meant that Cas would get to hear the familiar language uttered by someone else for the first time in years, and he’d have an excuse to use it himself.

As it turned out, he didn’t mind being her teacher all that much. He liked helping her. And, moreover, it would be good practice for becoming a social worker, Cas reasoned, once he finished school. After just a few days, the two began speaking to each other in short Enochian phrases.

It was cute.

Though the lessons took away some of their time with Cas, the Winchesters loved seeing him have fun, and anything that made Rosa more agreeable was something they supported. And maybe, with something else to focus on, Cas would be more willing to let go of the misgivings he had about Sam.

“He’s being really patient with me,” the younger Winchester eventually replied. He laughed uneasily. Though things were certainly getting better, he still walked on egg shells for fear of saying or doing the wrong things, and part of him greatly feared that Cas would abruptly change his mind, even though he showed no sign of doing so.

Dean wrapped one arm around the man and pulled him a few inches closer. “He loves you.” After a pause to take a long sip of his own beer, “And he knows you love him, Sammy.”

Those two simple phrases did wonders for his confidence on the matter. Encouragement from Dean had a knack for producing that kind of effect in him. He knew it already. Cas’d said as much at least a handful of times since they began rebuilding their relationship. But hearing it from his brother, in the soothing and resolute tone he used—somehow, it just made everything better. “God, you’re getting really good at that.”

“Huh?”

“Saying the right things, you know.” He didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable by elaborating too much, but it was no less true. Over the last few months, it just seemed like Dean was finally getting a handle on the emotional stuff. He gave good, thoughtful advice, knew when to stay out of things, and, most importantly, made sure he was available when Sam or Cas needed him. Maybe it was wresting with his own depression or just practice from being in a complicated romance for so many years, but whatever the reason, he’d changed. And it was awesome.

It was also proof that he could grow as a person. His companions needed a man who was strong, but not necessarily in the sense he’d clung to for most of his life before they got together. They didn’t need a soldier or sentry. They needed someone in tune with the things they cared about. Someone who listened, who provided real support grounded in logic and respect—and love. And he stepped up to the plate. For them.

And for himself, too.

Dean was happy to help out where and when he could. Being there for them—it fulfilled him. Made him feel strong in the same sort of way that hunting once did. It took a long time, perhaps too long, for him to come to that conclusion, but now that he had? Oh man, it felt good. Allowing himself to be a little more open and vulnerable, so that he could give them the support they craved, actually felt good.

Maybe Cas was still the expert when it came to relationships, and Sam managed to be far more in touch with his emotional side, but Dean was earning a seat at that table, too. And until his angel and his soulmate were one hundred percent linked up again, he wholly intended to do his part.

Sam was overjoyed at the prospect. “It’s just really great to hear. I mean, I knew it already, but—”

Leaning in close, Dean grabbed him by the cheek and turned his head so that he could kiss him deeply. He didn’t stop until Sam looked positively intoxicated. “Whenever you need to-uh, to hear that again, just let me know, okay? And anything else. I won’t lie to you, dude, but I _will_ be there, Sam. For you, and for Cas. You can count on it. If you need me, I’m here.”

Sam smiled to keep from tearing up. “Okay, Dean. Absolutely.”

“I’m not gonna leave you again, you know,” he continued with his voice cracking a little.

The lines and creases at the corners of his eyes appeared so much more pronounced when he let emotion shine through, and Sam loved it. So much so that he even considered letting Dean age a little more, so that the wrinkles would become a little more pronounced. But that was for another conversation.

“I dunno if I’ve apologized enough, but—I’m sorry, Sammy. I really am. About what happened. I’m sorry I screwed up what you and Cas had. Made you doubt yourself. Made him lose trust in you. I never wanted that to happen.”

Shaking his head, “You saved him.”

“But I hurt both of you in the process.”

Sam ran his fingers over the top of Dean’s leg. “We’ll recover. I’ll take something broken, that we have to work to fix, over never seeing him again.” He sniffed. “I shouldn’t have done what I did. I wish I hadn’t. I can’t take it back. But at least there’s hope that we can heal it. If I lost him for good, if _we_ did, there’s no recovering from that. You did what you had to do. I don’t blame you for that, and you shouldn’t either.”

“Then, don’t blame yourself,” he countered right away. “Deal? You couldn’t help what happened. I’m sure Cas gets it. And after awhile, I think, all three of us—maybe we could put it behind us. And just focus on the good stuff.”

He sat back, trying to absorb Dean’s words. “Not sure I can do that.”

“I think eventually you will. If you let yourself. And it’s not like you gotta do it alone, dude. I’m gonna be right here with you. Cas, too. We’ve all done things we regret. Things we wish we could erase. But we’ve each got somebody who forgives us—just unquestionably forgives us—even if we can’t do it for ourselves, yet. ” He gripped him tightly, pressing his forehead into the side of Sam’s face. “I know it sounds kinda impossible, but I think it’s gonna be okay. I’m not just saying that. I mean it, Sam. We’re gonna be okay.”

Was that even possible? Wouldn’t there always be something after them or some problem that threatened to split them apart? But did there have to be? Maybe they could be happy. Maybe they would be okay. Maybe paradise for them was in reach, after all.

The argument was too compelling to contradict. With time, he imagined he might even feel it as confidently as Dead did. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

Dean kissed him again before sitting back. “Then don’t worry about it so much.”


End file.
